


Seven Devils

by Gia279



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alpha Derek, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Fae creatures, Gore, Hale fire happened, M/M, Pack Mother Stiles Stilinski, Queen Lydia, SO, Self indulgence, Werewolves Turn Into Actual Wolves, Wings, also werewolves can go beta shift OR FULL wolf shift, and some derek, appreciate it, but i wanted to try to include everyone, forgive, i couldn't figure out the right winged creature to make stiles, i know i just added that, i like full wolf shifts ok, i wanted to write a wing fic, it was because i can't help myself, just for this fic, long live the camaro, loooooove it, love it, so i made up a couple of races of creatures, supernatural creatures of the night, things i made up, this is a story about stiles mostly, title means nothing just what i was listening to at the moment, which i'm very bad at, wing fic, winged!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:24:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2890184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gia279/pseuds/Gia279
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles inherits something rather suddenly from his mother's elusive side of the family.</p>
<p>
  <strong> Beware: this fic is incomplete and as I have writer's block where this one is concerned, it may be that way for a long while. Read at your own risk!</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at summaries, I hate writing them oh my god. Anyway forgive that awful thing and please enjoy! I couldn't find the wing fic I was looking for, so I decided to write one myself. C: Please enjoy!

**Chapter One**  
Stiles ran, pumping his arms and legs as hard as he could, puffing for air as he crashed through the woods. Despite the plan being his idea, he was pissed that he’d ended up being bait. Now the stupid thing was chasing him, and the pack was way far behind him. He ran harder, using his agitation to push him further.

Behind him, the _thing_ let out a feline yowl of rage, the sound raising the hair on the back of his neck. He pushed further, and briefly thanked his father for convincing him to start endurance training. He wasn’t great, but he was running longer than he’d have been able to just three months ago. 

He tripped over something and went careening down a slope, something slashing his shoulder, a branch swiping over his forehead, a rock digging into the bridge of his nose when he landed, eyes watering. He lay there for a moment, stunned, face down in the dirt, until he heard the distinct sound of growling above him. He flipped over and scrabbled back, feet slipping in the mud as he tried to put distance between himself and the green-yellow glow of cat eyes above him. 

“Scott!” he yelled, scrambling up the other side of the stupid creek he’d found himself in, swiping blood out of his eyes from the cut on his forehead. “ _Scott!_ Someone!” The cat-thing lurched at him, big paws landing on his shoulders and throwing him like a toy to the ground.

A branch dug into his spine while the big cat panted in his face, paws kneading like any housecat might do. 

Thick saliva dripped from its fangs, ears flat back on its skull. Along its back were what Stiles thought were probably the ridges of its spine, but also possibly spikes. Its fur was matted and patchy, with leathery skin beneath it. 

Stiles reached around in the dirt until he found a good sized rock and smacked it into the cat’s skull, knocking it sideways with a snarl. He was up like a shot, already running. 

“What good is having a werewolf pack if they _aren’t around to help!_ ” he yelled, huffing as he ran.

There was a rush of air just behind him, like the cat had swiped with one of its paws—its paws that were the size of his freaking _head_. 

The next time he tripped, he thought he was done for…except that there was a rustle of leaves and a flash of light; the cat snarled and stumbled back, swiping at its face with claws.

“Are you okay?” the girl asked, turning slightly away from the cat.

“Fuck,” Stiles decided, because another creature thing was not what they needed right now. 

The girl looked startled, but shrugged, turning back to the cat. She shook her shoulders, arms outstretched at her sides, like she was blocking the cat’s view of Stiles.

“You can’t kill him,” she told it, her voice trembling. 

The cat let out a hacking noise, growling, matted fur raising along its shoulders.

Enormous, brown wings spread from the girl’s back, stretching out and partially blocking Stiles’s view of the cat.

There was another growling noise from it, and the girl’s body jerked, a short scream making its way out of her throat.

A snarl came from the left, and the pack leaped onto the cat, taking it down. The girl dropped to her knees, wings trailing on the ground on either side of her. 

Stiles stared at her; her shirt was soaked through with blood, hands clutching at her stomach. She noticed him and beckoned him forward with a bloodstained hand, reaching into her…pocket?

She produced a round, corked glass bottle with some sort of light inside. 

“This is yours,” she said, holding her trembling hand out to him. “Once you drink it, once it’s part of you, only a loved one can remove it,” she explained breathlessly. “Don’t let anyone have it. You have to-” she paused to wheeze. “You have to protect it even if you don’t use it.”

“I don’t—you have the wrong person,” he said flatly, grimacing when a horrible squelching sound came from the creature that Erica was currently kicking.

“Stiles Stilinski, twenty years old, your father’s name is Jonathan Stilinski, your mother was Claudia Stilinski, née Rozum. You live-”

“Enough! Okay! I still don’t understand what that is and why you think it’s mine.”

The girl blinked at him slowly. Her face was awfully pale. “Your mother gave it to my mother to keep safe, but it’s safer for you to have it now.” 

Stiles took the bottle slowly, like he didn’t quite realize what he was doing. “But what is it?”

She shook her head, gulping. “Your power, your essence.” Her wings lifted weakly, then drooped back down. “Your wings.” Her eyes drifted closed for a moment before she flinched and opened them again. “Just swallow it when you decide if you want it.”

“Want…power?”

“It’s _yours_. My mother removed Claudia’s for her, and Claudia removed yours because she thought it would keep you safe.” 

“Who the fuck are you?” Erica asked, turning to the girl. 

They’d finished with the creature.

The girl looked at the dead thing and shuddered. “Dying,” she grunted, hands pressing to her wounds. 

Derek’s eyes were brilliant red as he stepped toward her, and she turned her face up to him.

“Alpha,” she said weakly, pleadingly.

He looked confused, brows furrowing. 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked, kneeling beside Stiles.

“She jumped in front of that thing, but she didn’t fight it. She just stood there and let it slice her open instead of running…she has wings…” Stiles stared at the bottle in his hands, warm and bright. The light was filling up the entire thing, all the way to the cork. When he shook it a little, it shifted like liquid. 

“I’m dying…Alpha…” the girl was still pleading with Derek, and his face cleared. “It’s a poison that can’t be cured in my kind…” She started coughing then, blood flecking her lips. 

“Oh.” 

She let out a shuddering gasp and fell forward, bracing her palm against the ground. 

“You guys go get a shovel or something. We have to bury this thing’s body until we can burn it,” Derek said gruffly. “Isaac, you drive.” He tossed his keys to Isaac. “Scott?”

“I’ll stay here.” He glanced at Stiles. “Unless you want me to take you to the car?”

“No, but can you go get the first aid kit from mine? I’m bleeding.” He was watching the girl on the ground. He had so many questions for her, but how could he ask when she was turning an awful gray color and coughing up blood? 

The pack scattered quickly; Erica remained, leaning against a tree and watching Derek kneel in front of the girl.

“Are you sure there’s no cure?” he muttered very quietly. 

“None,” the girl wheezed. “Slow-painful or fast with help.” She tipped her head up to him again. “Please?”

He nodded and the girl sagged with relief, head drooping. Derek reached out and snapped her neck. 

Stiles turned around and puked.   
 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is very long. Not sure what happened I just couldn't find a stopping place. I'm pathetic. Oh well. Excitement! Information! Wings!!!!

After they’d buried the bodies and gone back to the cars, Scott helped clean Stiles’s wounds, the cut on his forehead and shoulder, wiping antiseptic on his ground up palms. The bridge of his nose was bleeding pretty badly, but he refused stitches—the blood on his hands was enough punishment.

“Did she say what that was?” Scott asked, nodding to the bottle still clutched in Stiles’s hand.

“Just that it was mine.” He shuddered and glanced over his shoulder at Derek. “I wanted to ask her some questions, like about my mom, but…”

"She was in _pain_ , asshole,” Erica pointed out. “She was already dying. She _asked_ him to.”

Derek muttered something to her and she closed her mouth, turning away sharply. 

“What’d he say?” Stiles mouthed at Scott, who pursed his lips and got his phone out. 

Before Stiles had even registered that he was texting, he was holding the phone out for Stiles to see. It wasn’t subtle, but it didn’t need to be—the pack had developed _some_ manners and it was now a pack norm to pretend not to notice whenever anyone used their phone to tell someone something. 

‘ _He told Erica to leave it alone.’_

Stiles didn’t say anything, but handed the phone over. He glanced at Derek again, but Derek was talking to Isaac, hands on his shoulders, his back to them. 

Scott shrugged. “We should go get something to eat.”

They ended up in a 24 hour diner just outside of Beacon Hills, the pack rowdy and giddy with the night’s success. They’d found the creature that was killing joggers—joggers were in constant danger in Beacon Hills, Stiles was noticing—and bikers and anyone else that stumbled upon the cat things in the forest.

They hadn’t found out what the cat things were _called_ , just that they weren’t native to the area. Lydia was still checking the bestiary about it with Allison and, by default, Jackson, who had opted to stay with the two girls rather than chase down the cat. 

Stiles was leaning heavily against Scott’s shoulder by the time he asked if they could leave.

“I’m fine,” Stiles mumbled, sitting up. His head was killing him, but he was damned if he was going to be the weakling human falling asleep. He scrubbed his eyes and yawned hard enough that his jaw cracked.

“You guys can go,” Derek said, leaning his elbow on the table and watching Erica and Isaac fighting for who got to pick the song on the jukebox. “Tomorrow, we’ll go to Lydia’s house and see if she found anything.” He looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. “It’s probably too late to go by there now anyway.”

Stiles didn’t argue, but he did frown. Despite Scott’s objections, Stiles _liked_ how close the pack was becoming, how Derek was cleaning himself up to be a better Alpha, how he was letting himself learn from being in charge instead of assuming he knew all. Lydia had been good for teaching him that, at least. 

He was too tired to put up a fight when Scott nudged him out of the booth. 

“I’m coming to your house,” Scott said as they stood up, stretching.

Stiles, in the midst of cataloguing his aches and bruises, grunted. 

 

At noon the next day, they all met up at Derek and Isaac’s place, a rental house at the edge of a little suburb area. 

It had two bedrooms downstairs, three upstairs, two and a half baths, and Isaac’s endless love. Erica and Boyd had resided there for a year and a half after they turned eighteen, but had moved into an affordable apartment on the other side of Beacon Hills after they got together. 

“It’s about _time_ ,” Lydia said sharply, opening the door when Stiles and Scott got there. She raked her eyes over Stiles’s face. “You look like you had a rough night,” she said dismissively, turning her back on them and going toward the living room. 

Stiles stuck his tongue out at her back, and she shot up one hand in the air, index finger raised like she was telling him to wait. It was a distinctly threatening motion, as Stiles didn’t know what he should be waiting for. Probably nothing good.

“I don’t think you look that bad,” Allison said soothingly when they walked into the living room. “Just a little…beat up.”

“Who finally gave you the black eye, Stilinski?” Jackson drawled, earning the spike of a stiletto to the top of his foot from Lydia. 

Refusing to acknowledge this, Stiles said hello to Kira, Boyd, and Isaac. He didn’t really have a black eye. He had two.

“Did you guys figure out what that thing was?” Scott asked Allison; he was seated beside Kira. 

It was nice to see them smiling with ease at each other, instead of that slight tint of awkward from after their breakup. 

“Of course we did,” Lydia said easily, flicking her fingers through her hair. “Why else would we call you all here?”

“Because you didn’t want us at your house?” Kira offered innocently, and Lydia smiled at her.

“That too.” 

Derek, Erica, and Isaac came in from the kitchen; Derek’s brows were drawn together, and Isaac was chewing a mouthful of what looked like egg, but could also have been cheese. Derek’s brows went up at the sight of Stiles’s black eyes, so he snorted. Erica fitted herself onto Boyd’s lap.

“It’s from where he hit his nose,” Scott explained, sighing. 

“Now that everyone’s here,” Lydia began sharply, lifting a brow when Derek huffed; he sat down next to Isaac on the couch, between him and Stiles. “So, the cats? They’re called Laeb, large feline-like creatures that eat meat, and tend to be found in _Poland_. They’re known mostly for their aggression toward another race of supernatural beings called the Maol. There were notes in the margins…” 

“The notes said that the two species have been basically at war for thousands of years. The Laeb are gluttons, they consume and consume and consume, and the Maol try to stop them, so they fight. It’s…” Allison batted a hand in front of her face. “Like…”

“Like the vampires and lycans in _Underworld_?” Stiles asked, grinning when Isaac snorted. 

“Yes.” She nodded sharply. “Like that. They also have poisonous claws. The poison can be cured in most species, except in the Maol. We looked up the Maol in the book next.”

Stiles went tense when Lydia pulled out a few printed pages. 

“This, first of all, is a Laeb, or at least a rendition of it. Is that what was attacking you last night?”

The picture was a black and white version of the hideous zombie cat from the night before. It was all patches of fur and flesh, mouth open to reveal dripping fangs and ears flat on its skull, the ridges of its spine standing out sharply. 

“Yes, that’s it.” Scott took the picture and wrinkled his nose. 

“What are the Maol?” Stiles blurted, fingers twitching against his leg. He had the bottle in his pocket, felt the warmth burning just that much hotter when he said the word.

Lydia met his gaze steadily, intense, like she was looking for something. 

He let a goofy grin stretch over his face, the same way he used to when she paid any attention to him at all in high school; it worked, since she wrinkled her nose delicately and tapped the next sheet of paper.

“The Maol are a race of fae, winged creatures at war with the Laeb, they’ve been known to be mistaken for angels, and they’re a bit mischievous. Hunters keep their wings as trophies when they kill them for playing pranks on humans, which is rare. Despite being mischievous, they’re also known for protecting children and taking oaths to protect human families that have ancestors that have done them favors.” 

“A _race_ of fae?” Stiles asked, leaning forward. 

“There are a few different races of fae, the Maol being the closest to human,” Allison explained. 

“We saw one,” Scott said, looking at the picture. 

It was of a woman with enormous wings stretched out behind her, chin tipped down and eyes on the viewer, hands around some sort of ball of light, if the lines extending from it were any indication. She was tall, a scale drawn beside her and marking her as being about six feet tall.

“The girl we saw was younger than this, probably Stiles’s height. But…that’s basically her.”

“What happened to her?” Allison asked, looking toward Derek, whose jaw ticked.

“She stood between Stiles and the…Laeb, it clawed her and poisoned her, and she was dying, so she asked me—when she realized I was the alpha, she asked me to kill her.”

“And you _did?_ ” Allison asked sharply, straightening up. 

“It was a slow and painful death for her, or a quick mercy killing,” Lydia said dismissively. “She asked and he did her a favor. The poison takes hours to kill them, but it can’t be cured.” 

“She gave Stiles a bottle and said her mother knew his mother,” Scott said, and Stiles shot him a betrayed look, to which he responded to with wide, apologetic eyes. 

“Maybe that’s what your mother was, Stiles,” Kira said excitedly. “Maybe that’s why you have the spark thing Deaton was talking about. Because you’re Mail!” 

“Maol,” Lydia corrected absently. “Stiles, where is the bottle?”

“I—why does it matter?” he asked defensively, struggling not to curl toward his pocket protectively. 

“I just want to see what it looks like,” she explained in a deliberately slow voice. “What if it’s dangerous?” 

Stiles carefully took the bottle out of his pocket, cradling it with his palm. 

“It doesn’t smell poisonous or anything,” Scott said. “We looked at it last night.” 

“She said if I wanted…it, then I should drink it, but otherwise, I should just protect it.”

“From who?” Lydia asked, tapping her nails on the arm of her chair. “It seems like she should have given you more information. And why did only one of them come to deliver _that_ if it was such a big deal?”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t _know_. She obviously should have taken more time before _dying_ to explain it all to me. Of course.”

Lydia lifted a brow. “Well, she did stand in front of the Laeb just to make sure you didn’t get attacked, and gave you that. I would assume it was the point of her mission.” 

“Lydia, that’s a little harsh,” Allison said softly. 

“Are you gonna drink it?” Erica asked before Lydia could respond. 

“What?” He didn’t look at her.

“Stiles. Are you going to drink the bottle?” 

He frowned at the bottle. “I don’t know yet.” 

“There are details on how to find them,” Allison said, reading the page again. She added a little guiltily, “In Poland.” 

“So your mother must have been Maol.”

“I would remember my mother having wings,” Stiles said stiffly, fingers clenching around the bottle. The golden light inside turned cold and blue. 

“Well, _obviously_ , but you don’t have wings either.” Lydia flicked her hand. “For all we know, you could, though. With that.” 

“I just-”

Scott made some sort of noise in the back of his throat, looking down at his phone. “Someone was attacked by some sort of animal and brought to the hospital. Mom says it looks like the wounds that were on those bodies.” 

“Scott, you and Isaac go to the hospital and try to see if it smells at all like the Laeb from last night,” Derek said immediately. “Erica, Boyd, check out the path we took last night when we found it to see if you can figure out where it was staying. Maybe they have a den or something.”

“What about us?” Kira asked cheerfully, standing up. 

“We are going to talk to Deaton about what Stiles has, since he decided to trust the random faerie he met in the woods,” Lydia said coolly. 

“They aren’t really faeries, Lyd,” Allison pointed out, then twisted her mouth. “But you really shouldn’t trust _any_ fae races, Stiles, they tend to be mischievous.” 

He nodded, looking at the bottle in his hands still. “I remember.” 

Derek said, “While you’re asking him that, ask if there’s a reason why the Laeb would be here in the first place. If the book said they’re at war with the Maol and that’s their sole purpose, then there’d have to be more Maol here, right?”

“And if there are we can ask them about the jar,” Lydia said smugly, nodding. “Let’s go, Jackson.” 

“We can take my car,” Allison said, picking up her purse. 

Erica paused after Boyd and Isaac had gone outside. “Try not to do anything stupid before we get the answers, Stilinski,” she said, grinning at him and stalking out.

“This would be a great time to find some old diary of my mom’s, huh?” Stiles said, smiling weakly at Scott, who twitched a smile at him.

“Yeah, that would be helpful. It would have all the answers and a convenient letter to you in the back.”

Stiles snorted. 

“Are you staying here?” Scott asked, standing up. He didn’t look at Derek, who was standing with his arms crossed near the front door.

“Yeah, I’ll wait for everyone here. I’ll text you if my dad calls to tell me anything.” He shrugged. “Not much for me to do anyway.” He looked at the bottle in his hands.

“Alright. Be back soon.” Before he left, though, he paused and glanced at Derek, but when Derek didn’t say anything, he just shook his head and walked out the door.

Stiles carefully placed the glass bottle on the coffee table, far from the edge so that he couldn’t knock it over on accident. It wasn’t until about two minutes _after_ the sound of car doors slamming had faded that Derek was crouched in front of him, skimming his fingers over the cuts and bruises on his face.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, moving the shoulder of his shirt so he could look at the cut there, too.

“I could be better,” he muttered, trying not to shrug away from him. 

Derek sat back on his heels, studying him for a moment. “I couldn’t just leave her like that.” 

“I _know_. I just wish you had waited until I wasn’t looking,” Stiles muttered, turning his face away. 

“She was in pain.” Derek sighed and stood up. “Did you…talk to the sheriff about what she said?” 

Stiles stiffened. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t see the point in asking him about it, because if he hasn’t told me about it, then he doesn’t know about it.”

“You don’t think he’d have kept it from you?”

“Not after all the crap we’ve seen.” He leaned back against the couch cushions gingerly. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Derek asked, looking down at him. “Isaac went to get groceries this morning.”

“No, Scott and I had lunch before we got here.” Stiles stared at the bottle on the table. “Should I drink it?” he asked abruptly.

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “No. You don’t know what it’ll do.” 

Stiles laughed weakly. “I know that. She said it was my wings.”

“Your wings. And you just…trust her?”

“No, obviously not.” Stiles shook his head hard, annoyed. “She knew my name, my dad’s name, my mom’s name and even her maiden name.” He picked at his jeans, then at the scab he saw on the back of his hand. “Distract me,” he demanded, and Derek glowered at him. 

“No.”

They weren’t quite dating—not really. They had more of a making out occasionally, cuddling, and ignoring each other when the pack was around sort of relationship. 

“Do you want to date me?” Stiles blurted, because now was better than later or something like that. 

Derek stared at him like he was crazy. “What.”

“Instead of just…doing whatever we’re doing. Do you want to date me?”

“Now is a weird time to try to talk about this, Stiles,” Derek said, brows furrowed. “We’re waiting to see if someone was killed by the same thing that tried to kill you last night, and also trying to see if you’re secretly some type of faerie.” 

“You and I aren’t doing anything at the moment,” Stiles pointed out, fingers twitching on his knee. “Which—why did you stay here instead of going on some mission, too?” 

He turned his head and used his shoulder to scratch his jaw, like he was trying to think of how to answer that. “Everything was covered, and I can stay here and make sure you don’t do something stupid.” 

“Derek. Just say yes or no.”

“I’m not agreeing to go on a date with you when we’re investigating deaths that could be caused by supernatural creatures.”

“You _do_ want to date me,” Stiles said triumphantly, grinning. “You could have just said no right now if you didn’t.”

Derek rolled his eyes and sat on the couch beside him, tugging his arm until he was leaning into his side. “ _Yes_ , I want to.”

“So we can tell the pack instead of us doing this creepy-adulterer thing like we’re doing something wrong?”

More eye rolling. “Just be quiet. I change my mind a little more every time you open your mouth.”

“Is that so?” he asked, leaning closer to Derek’s face.

“Stiles,” he muttered, huffing.

Stiles bit his shoulder; Derek swatted him. 

“Would you be serious? Are you going to drink that?” he demanded.

Stiles scowled at the bottle on the table. “I don’t know! I guess it would be nice not to be the only person unable to defend themselves against the big bads.” 

“You’re not the only human,” Derek pointed out immediately. “Allison. And it’s not like Lydia can take down the…big bad with her bare hands either.”

“She doesn’t have to! She just aims and releases Jackson.”

Derek nodded sagely. “I don’t think she even needs Jackson. I had a dream once that she was holding the leashes of a kanima, a basilisk, a berserker, and her little Pomeranian, walking them downtown and telling people she was busy.” He shuddered. 

Stiles barked out a laugh, startled. “That sounds like something that could actually happen. Basilisks are real?”

“I have no idea.” 

Stiles carefully leaned his head against Derek’s shoulder, sighing. 

Scott texted fifteen minutes later that the body had the Laeb’s scent on it. Two minutes after that, Erica texted to say they needed back up and bait. Stiles hoped she was kidding about the bait thing, because his shoulder and head were killing him. 

Derek texted Scott to meet them in the woods and follow Erica and Boyd’s scents. Scott had texted Kira to stay with Deaton for the moment. 

 

“Look who finally showed up.” Erica somehow managed to sound snide while she was wrestling with a couple of large zombie-cat creatures. 

Boyd managed to get a grip on one of the Laeb’s heads, slamming it against a tree and launching himself at the one pinning Erica, snarling. 

“Stay back,” Derek growled at Stiles, and went to join the fray.

There were snarls and yowls, hisses and crashes, blood spatter and chunks of fur. Stiles was anxiously rocking forward on the balls of his feet, wishing he could help them in some way. He counted at least six Laeb, though it was hard to tell once they were all fighting. 

When Scott and Isaac showed up, it seemed like things were getting better, until four more Laeb came running from the depths of the woods, one pausing to swipe at Stiles’s face; he scrambled back, but Scott had already noticed and jumped on it, getting his hands around its throat. 

He was trying to decide whether he should run or not when one of the Laeb got Isaac under it and snapped at his neck, tearing open his t-shirt. 

Swearing to himself, Stiles ran forward, driving his shoulder into its ribs, throwing them both to the ground.

“Stiles!” Isaac snarled, trying to follow, except another Laeb had already distracted him.

Cringing, Stiles sat up and shuffled back on his knees, trying to get away from the snarling cat.

It swiped at him; he ducked and shot to his feet, racing toward the others. Its paw curled around his ankle, tripping him up and dragging him toward it.

He twisted until he could see it and kicked its face twice before it pinned his other foot, spitting and puffing its fur up. Its eyes were enormous and green-yellow, unwaveringly latched onto him and Stiles knew suddenly what it felt like to be a mouse as the cat decided just _how_ to kill it. 

He was just trying to decide whether he should close his eyes or not when the Laeb got knocked off of him with a rustle of leaves and a girlish shout. When he looked up at the woman, whose storm gray wings were arched up and out, he realized it wasn’t a rustle of leaves, but of feathers. She was holding a large dagger somewhat awkwardly, like she wasn’t really sure how to use it. 

Erica vaulted into view, though, roaring and sinking her claws through the Laeb’s throat before it could get its feet back under it, tearing at it and wiping the blood on her pants. She looked satisfied when it stayed down, turning back to the two attacking Boyd.

The woman turned to Stiles and held her hand out, palm up. “Give me the bottle.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“The bottle. Kestrel should _never_ have given that to you, and now it’s in danger because you can’t protect it.” 

“The bottle is in danger.” Stiles stood up and wiped his scraped palms on his jeans. “ _I_ am in danger. I’m not giving it to you. She said it was mine. Is that a lie?” 

The woman’s lips pressed together. She was incredibly tall, a couple inches above six feet. “That wasn’t a lie. However,” she flicked her gaze over him. “If you haven’t decided to drink it now, then I will take it. It’s not safe for it to be here.” She let out a sigh. “Your mother was a _great_ warrior, but you are not. You haven’t been trained, you haven’t been raised with Maol. There’s no reason to have that.”

“What? What about my mother?” 

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “She was Maol, Rahnezaor line.” She rolled her eyes. “The Rahnezaor are the warriors that protected us from the Laeb. With your cousin, Kestrel, dead, and her father, too, you and your mother would have been the last trained warriors. Your mother didn’t train you.”

“I don’t _need_ training. I’ve-”

“Intergrated into a werewolf pack? Nearly gotten yourself killed a thousand times since you were sixteen? This is why we made the decision not to give that to you, but your cousin stole it.”

“My _cousin_.”

“Kestrel, the girl who gave you the bottle,” the woman explained, sighing. “She was sixteen-years-old.” 

Stiles rubbed the center of his chest. “Why would she stand in front of it, then?”

“It is instinctive to us to protect the defenseless.” She held out her hand again. “Give me the bottle. We can train a new line of warriors.” 

“You said it was mine.”

“It had been. Now it would be the best thing for our people if you give us the bottle before you spoil it.”

“Spoil-” Stiles began, only to be knocked aside by a Laeb that scraped its teeth over his arm. He yelped and struggled, but he didn’t have to for long. 

The woman threw herself onto it, knife slashing at its face. It swiped the knife out of her hands and clawed her chest, then dug its teeth into her shoulder, shaking her the way a dog shakes a toy. 

Stiles picked up the knife and jumped on its back, clinging until he could drive the knife into the base of its skull. He twisted until the Laeb stopped struggling, collapsing to the ground with the woman still in its mouth. She was dead. 

Derek carefully pulled Stiles to his feet, using his shirt to wipe the blood from his hands. 

“I want to drink the bottle,” he said, because that woman was the second person to die for him in as many days and he didn’t think he could handle any of his friends being next. 

Not if they were dealing with another monster infestation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! ^^ Hope you like! <3

They decided to bury the Laeb on Hale property, along with the Maol woman. The werewolves were better equipped to man the shovels, so Stiles sat on a log and cradled the bottle in his hands, rolling it around and generally fighting with himself. 

_She thought I would spoil it._ That thought alone spurred him to yank the cork out of the top and tip it into his mouth before he’d thought better of it.

“ _ **Stiles!**_ ” At least four different voices had shouted it; Boyd was already yanking his arm down away from his mouth, but it was too late—he’d already emptied the bottle. 

“What the fuck were you thinking—”

“Why would you do that—”

“What if it _kills you_ —”

“You moron!” 

Stiles looked at the empty bottle in his hand, at Boyd’s fingers wrapped tight around his forearm, and felt…nothing. He felt the same. Maybe a little annoyed that they were all yelling at him and converged on him like he might collapse at any moment. 

“I’m fine, guys. I don’t feel a thing.”

They stopped shouting and everyone—Scott, Derek, Erica, Isaac, and Boyd—tilted forward and sniffed at him. 

Stiles was just rolling his eyes when one of the Laeb got up and leaped at them, mouth wide as it aimed for Erica’s neck.

He let out a shout, hands lifting to do—something, and a flash of light erupted from his palms, catching the Laeb in the chest and flinging it to the ground. It let out a hacking cough and struggled back to its feet, but, as his heart raced, startled by the light, fire exploded out from his palms, lighting the Laeb’s fur on fire.

“Uh…uh, I got it,” Scott said, and jerked his head at Isaac. They cornered the yowling Laeb and converged on it.

Stiles turned his own palms toward him, searching for some sign of change. Derek, beside him, jerked forward. 

“Maybe don’t do that until you know you’re not going to burn your own face off,” he muttered, cupping his hands over Stiles’s, curling them into fists. 

“Good call,” Stiles said a little dizzily. 

 

On the drive back to Derek’s house, Stiles discovered he was also telekinetic. He nearly threw another car off the road by trying to explain to Scott what the light had felt like coming from his palms. 

“Just—stop gesturing. Don’t move your hands.” 

“I can’t go home like this, guys. I might hurt my dad. _My dad._ Oh my god. I’m going to end up maiming him or something.”

“You’ll just stay at the house until you can control it. Since you decided to just drink a bottle of magical light without first knowing what it would do.” Derek shot him a hard look in the rearview mirror. 

“I figured it wasn’t dangerous.”

“You got mad that she didn’t think you should have it.” 

The fact that he was _right_ made Stiles scowl even harder. 

“What, you want me to live with you and Isaac?” 

“Uh, stay with.” Derek’s hands flexed on the wheel.

“You could stay with me,” Scott said when Stiles didn’t say anything.

“You live in an apartment building where your neighbors might notice,” Derek pointed out. 

Scott grimaced. “Well, maybe if you didn’t blast fire out of your hands it would work.”

“If I could stop it, then I wouldn’t have to find a place to stay,” Stiles muttered, looking at the backs of his hands; he was still concerned about burning his own face off, or at least his eyebrows. 

“I thought she said you would have wings,” Scott said suddenly. “Do you have wings?” He grabbed at Stiles’s shoulder, turning him and lifting up his shirt.

“Okay. I think I would have noticed feathery appendages suddenly growing out of my back?” 

“Nothing here. You do have something though…” He touched a finger to Stiles’s spine, making him flinch. “There’s like…a line on either side of your spine. I don’t know what it is.”

“Judging by how today went? It’s probably a new scar.” He wiggled around until Scott smoothed his shirt back in place, sitting back until he was on his side of the car again. 

Stiles leaned back against the seat, sighing. His muscles, already sore, were aching again, different parts of his back and legs aching like he’d twisted something. A lot of somethings. 

“Can you do anything by choice?” 

“I can do a lot,” he said, smirking.

“I meant the fire. Or the telekinesis?” Scott rolled his eyes.

Stiles shrugged and lifted his hand, flicking his fingers and sending day old coffee flying out of the cup in the middle console, onto Derek’s blood-and-dirt stained pants. He didn’t even flinch, he just looked tired. 

Isaac was already at the house, apparently putting sheets on the bed in the empty room upstairs. Boyd and Erica were in the kitchen arguing over Erica attempting to cook—apparently she’d done something to permanently scar Boyd while in the kitchen, and he had banned her from the stove—and Kira, Lydia, and Allison were in the living room. 

“You drank it,” Lydia said with a terrifying gleam in her eyes. “What did I _tell_ you? What did we _all_ tell you?” 

Stiles huffed. “It hasn’t had any adverse effects _necessarily_.” 

“Oh, really?” she asked, lifting her brow judgingly. “Necessarily.” 

“It’s actually kind of cool, he can-” Scott began, cut off when Jackson shoved Stiles out of the doorway, to which Stiles, caught off guard, responded with by flinging his hands up and, by extension, flinging Jackson against the wall hard enough to leave a considerable hole. 

Derek, coming back from changing his pants, sighed heavily. “You know where the plaster is, Jackson,” he said.

“It was Stilinski’s fault!” And he was red in the face over being thrown by a human. “What the fuck.”

“He’s telekinetic,” Lydia pointed out, letting out a longsuffering sigh. 

“He can create fire, too, and light,” Scott added enthusiastically. 

“He’s going to stay here until he has it under control,” Derek said. “He nearly rolled a car right off the road when we were on our way here.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Stiles protested weakly. “It just sort of…veered to the left? A bit.” 

“Were they okay?” Kira asked, biting her lip. “And is it all from your hands?”

“So far, yes. And they were okay! They just looked a bit surprised,” he laughed nervously. 

A crash came from the kitchen, followed by the unmistakable tinkling sound of glass shards hitting the ground. 

“We’re going to order pizza!” Erica called cheerfully, and the sound of Boyd sighing caused a couple snorts of laughter. 

“Stiles, you should call your dad and let him know you’re staying here for a little while. Isaac, make sure you’re the one to order the pizza. I don’t want them to recognize Erica’s voice and do something…unsavory to the pizza,” Derek added quietly, shuddering. 

The local pizza place had not forgiven Erica for a pre-full moon temper tantrum about them putting the wrong toppings on and giving her the wrong type of crust. A bother, to be sure, but nothing to destroy the display case and several booths for. Derek had paid for the damages. 

Stiles called his dad and explained that he was staying with Derek and Isaac for a couple days to get out of the house. The sheriff was suspicious, but also glad that Stiles was having fun and relaxing instead of stressing like he’d done the past couple of summer vacations.

When the pizzas were delivered, Scott tripped and sent them flying; Stiles flung his hands out and closed his eyes. 

“Nice catch!” Kira cheered, and he cracked one eye open to look.

If he wasn’t afraid of dropping the pizza boxes currently suspended midair, he’d have cheered and fist pumped. What he did was freeze, hands still outstretched in front of him.

Scott sheepishly began collecting the boxes, tugging them out of Stiles’s grasp. And he could actually _feel_ Scott pulling them away, once he started paying attention, as if he was taking them from…well, not necessarily his hands. He wasn’t sure how to describe it; perhaps like a weight from his mind being lifted, a feeling of mental relief. 

“Looks like I _can_ control it,” Stiles said smugly, waggling his fingers. A picture flew off the wall, surprising him. “When did you guys hang those up?” he squeaked, rushing to pick it up.

“Okay, Drax, sit down,” Boyd said, amused, as he picked up the picture of him and Erica in the ocean. 

“I got them printed at Walmart and started framing them,” Isaac said, handing out paper plates. 

He’d mellowed a lot since he and Derek and the others had moved into this place, and he’d done a lot to make it a home. It was nice to see, actually.

Apparently pictures were the next step in nesting.

“That’s nice. Uh, I can replace the frame,” Stiles offered. 

Isaac nodded and thrust a paper plate at Jackson. 

Besides Jackson, no one whined about the paper plates despite the fact that the werewolves could eat a whole large pizza each. 

Normally Stiles could eat half of one, maybe more, if he was starving. This time, he managed to eat a whole one, and part of Scott’s, before he stopped feeling hunger pains. 

“What?” he mumbled around the crust. “I can get you another one.” 

“Stiles, you ate an entire large pizza, and _half_ of mine.” 

“I noticed. Just order another one, I’ll pay for it,” he muttered. He was going to end up using his entire paycheck from the carwash on pizza and damages. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Scott asked, moving closer.

“Before we left my house.” 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Scott mouth “what the…” toward Derek, who shrugged.

Lydia scoffed. “Obviously the contents of the bottle gave him these powers, and the powers sped up his metabolism. Using the powers expends energy. He’s going to need to eat more.” 

Stiles reached for the next closest pizza box, which unfortunately happened to be Jackson’s, and he snarled. Stiles held his hands up and yanked out his cell phone, rolling his eyes as he went to the kitchen and called in another order for delivery. 

“ _Three_ more pizzas?” Derek asked, leaning against the doorjamb. 

“Two of them are for Scott,” Stiles muttered, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “I could eat at least another half pizza.” He looked around. “I guess it’s good I managed to use my phone without destroying anything in here.” 

“You should probably start small when you’re practicing.” 

“No shit? I thought I’d just start blowing up the cars and stuff.” 

Derek rolled his eyes hard enough that Stiles winced in sympathetic pain. “Just try not to break everything in here.” He lowered his voice. “This is Isaac’s domain.” He smirked a little and went back to the living room.

 

Everyone had tips and also wanted a demonstration, so they went to the backyard. After he shattered a window and set the ankle of Scott’s jeans on fire, Derek set up a long folding table with plastic cups and various other non-breakables on it. Lydia’s method was to have him take aim like a gun, Scott’s was to encourage him brightly to _concentrate_ —as if he wasn’t already doing that—Kira’s was to suggest just relaxing and letting it come to him naturally. 

“Okay, this isn’t working,” Derek said, pushing up from his position against the house. “You’ve thrown everything off the table four times. Stop using your whole hand.” 

Isaac, Boyd, and Erica were wrestling in the far left corner of the yard, which Stiles was grateful for, because he couldn’t handle another person giving him advice. 

Lydia sighed heavily and took out her phone, flicking through it as she went and took a seat on the patio set. Allison pursed her lips and, after a moment, followed her. 

In the end, it was, to everyone’s surprise, Jackson who managed to get Stiles angry enough to use his powers effectively. He flicked cups off the table one at a time with a single finger each, and, when Jackson pissed him off even more, swept his hand across the air in front of him, flinging the table at Jackson and knocking him to the ground. 

“That’s enough, boys,” Lydia said, standing up. “Stiles, why don’t you try the fire?”

Stiles glanced toward Derek, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to practice with fire that he could barely control this close to Derek’s house.

“You should get some practice in just in case you end up torching the place while you’re sleeping,” Derek said in an empty sort of voice.

Stiles shook his hands out. “I—you think I’ll use my powers in my sleep?” he asked, squinting at him.

“We should see if wearing gloves will stop them,” Allison said, setting her phone on the table. “My dad said that most creatures—sorry,” she added with a grimace toward Stiles. “But that most beings that have power they have to use their hands to activate need their hands to be uncovered in order to use them. He’s not sure about Maol, because he’s never encountered one, but it’s worth a check, right?”

“Right.” Kira pulled a pair of gloves out of her purse, but they were far too small. 

Isaac sighed heavily and went into the house, coming back with a pair of black cable knit gloves, handing them to Stiles with trepidation. 

“I’ll try not to destroy them,” he said meekly, pulling them on. 

Derek had set the table back up, stacking the cups on it. 

Stiles flicked his fingers at the cups. They didn’t move, but he’d failed enough times when he actually wanted to use the powers that he wasn’t impressed.

“Someone ask me about something,” he ordered.

“Tell us everything you know about turtles,” Kira suggested brightly.

“Oh, no,” Scott muttered, covering his face. 

“Turtle, a reptile of the order Chelonia, with strong, beaked, toothless jaws and, usually, an armor-like shell,” he began with a sneer toward Scott. “The shell normally consists of bony plates overlaid with horny shields. The upper portion, or _carapace_ , covers the turtle's back and sides, and the lower portion, or plastron, covers the belly; the two parts are joined at the sides.” As he gestured, he glanced at the table; nothing had moved. Things were looking hopeful. “Exceptions are the rare plateless turtles of New Guinea and the marine leatherback turtle, which is encased in a thick, ossified skin resembling a carapace. When startled, most turtles withdraw their heads straight back into their shells, the neck folding into an S-shaped curve. However, in the side-necked turtles of the Southern Hemisphere, the head moves sideways and tucks next to the shoulder.” He blew out a breath. 

“Looks like the gloves work,” Scott said cheerfully. “You haven’t destroyed anything since you put them on.”

“I guess I’ll just have to sleep with them on then.” He sighed and let his shoulders curve down a little. 

“Everyone go home,” Derek ordered. “Get some rest. Tomorrow the plan is just to help Stiles try to control himself a little better. Keep in touch, keep an eye out for more Laeb.”

Erica tossed her hair and grabbed Boyd’s hand, waggling her fingers over her shoulder as she left.

“You insulted her,” Isaac sighed. 

“ _How_?” Derek demanded, throwing his hands up.

“You told us to _leave_ ,” Scott said. “It’s a little insulting; I thought you knew that by now.” He shook his head like he was disappointed, and Derek looked bothered. 

“You’re all tired,” he pointed out very slowly. “I just wanted to let everyone know you could go home.” 

“I knew what you meant, Derek,” Kira offered, and what a _suck up_ , Stiles decided, but it was non-malicious. Kira had attached to Derek and seemed to have made it a personal mission of hers to be as cheerful and optimistic as possible around him. 

Since she and Scott were dating, it was like watching Scott have to share his own personal ray of sunshine. 

After everyone had left, Derek went inside to clean up the paper plates and put the trash by the curb. Isaac cornered Stiles, pulling a knife out of the back of his pants.

Stiles’s hands shot up defensively, stumbling back into the wall. “Whatever you’re mad about, I’ll replace it.”

“Stiles,” Isaac sighed. “I took that knife the woman dropped earlier. When the Laeb attacked her?” He held the handle out toward Stiles, who, after a cautious moment, took it. 

The butt of the handle said _CBR_ and the blade had the words _Matka, wojownik, opiekun_ carved into it in curling, formal script. 

CBR were Stiles’s mother’s initials, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. They could also stand for that woman’s name. 

“What do the words on the blade mean?” Isaac asked with genuine curiosity, leaning forward. “I meant to Google it, but I forgot.”

“Uh, I think they mean mother, warrior, guardian,” Stiles said quietly, clearing his throat. “Um, thanks for grabbing this.”

“Your mom’s name was Claudia Rozum, wasn’t it?” 

Stiles stiffened. “Her maiden name, yeah. Claudia Britannia Rozum.” He ran his fingers over the initials. “That doesn’t mean this was hers. The chances of that woman just…happening to have a knife of my mother’s when she died right in front of me are ridiculous.” He looked up. “Plus, I mean, she was married to my dad when she had me.”

Isaac’s expression was unreadable when he said, “She could have had that added after.” He stepped away and went into the house just as Derek stepped outside.

“You okay?” he asked, stepping away from the porch light toward Stiles, where he was standing in the darkening part of the backyard as the sunset. 

“Yeah. Isaac gave me this.” He held the knife out, but Derek didn’t take it or even glance at it.

“Come inside. You should get some rest, too. Lydia said you’re probably going to be really tired after using those abilities so much.”

Stiles nodded, following him up the porch steps to the house. He had a feeling he’d do more counting than sleeping tonight, but there was no reason for Derek to know that. 

Of course, he passed out and slept like a log as soon as he sat on the edge of the guest bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> /// I know nothing about turtles and literally googled "Everything to know about turtles" and copy and pasted. So...that's not mine. At all. Any of it. Why turtles, you ask? Why not?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! This was fun!!!! <3 Hope you like it!

Derek was waiting on the porch with a fire extinguisher while Stiles practiced with the fire and light. He figured out how _not_ to blow fire out of his palms right away—that only seemed to happen when he was scared, rather than startled or mellow. 

“Let’s go inside, now that I know you’re not going to burn anything,” Derek said, but he kept the extinguisher. “Isaac, you keep an eye on the perimeter out here.”

“Why? Do you think something’s going to happen?” Stiles asked immediately, knocking a potted plant off the porch; he cringed. “Sorry.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. Someone else got attacked by a Laeb today, and they weren’t alone when it happened. The woman was injured, but whoever was with her…I don’t know if they’re still in the woods or not. Scott, Kira, and Boyd are looking into it.” 

Isaac picked up the pot and set it back where it was supposed to be. “Okay. I’ll be out here.”

Stiles went to the kitchen and ate a leftover pizza, guzzling down the orange juice that was leftover from breakfast. He wiped his mouth and let out a sigh. 

“Okay, I’m ready for phase two—are you?” he asked, grinning at Derek, who was leaning against a counter watching him with what looked like—for a second—amusement, before it turned to annoyance when he knew Stiles could see him. 

“Phase two would be…?”

“The light! The light I created before the fire!” Stiles held his palms up toward the ceiling and frowned, flexing his fingers. A flame flickered in his left palm, so he closed his hand quickly, extinguishing it and glancing up at Derek guiltily. “I can do it.” He wiggled his fingers and took a breath, then tried again. 

A beam of light—like a flashlight’s beam—shot up and hit the ceiling, spreading out and lighting the room even brighter than the fluorescent lighting, before it faded. 

“Cool! That would be perfect for all the places I end up in where I can’t see and you werewolves can.” Stiles grinned and tried again, this time a beam of light balancing on his palm for a moment before shattering into bright shards falling to his feet and disappearing.

“Can you…You try to take the light when I make it,” Stiles said, and tried again. The light was loosely cylindrical in shape, four inches tall and balanced in the center of his palm, warm and bright. 

“Don’t you think it’ll burn me?” Derek asked, stepping forward and holding his hand out regardless. 

“I don’t think so…It’s not fire.” The light stretched out toward his reaching hand, then poured into his palm like a liquid. 

Derek let out a short, startled laugh, this quiet pleased sound that made Stiles’s lips curve to hear, when it all moved over to his hand. 

Stiles focused on keeping the light in one piece, letting it spread over Derek’s hand. He wasn’t sure what the point of being able to create light was, but the smile on Derek’s face was kind of worth the effort. 

His concentration wavered for a moment and the light dimmed, but Stiles squinted at it until it flared brighter and started to sink into Derek’s palm, like lotion being absorbed into the skin, stretching up to his wrist and disappearing.

“Was that…supposed to happen?” Derek asked, staring at his arm in a way that made Stiles wonder if he could feel the light. If it had made him feel as peaceful as Stiles was absolutely certain it had. 

“I…guess?” Stiles shrugged because he didn’t know how to explain. He was about to say something when a downright _terrifying_ snarl came from outside, along with the sound of thumping and scratching along the side of the house. “What the hell was that-“

“Isaac’s on the roof,” Derek muttered, bolting outside. “Stay in here,” he snapped when Stiles started to chase him.

“No way! This is the perfect time to test out my superpowers!” he complained, flinging his hands wide and throwing the couch back against the wall and knocking the TV over. He cringed but resolutely followed Derek outside. 

He provided an obstacle right away by jumping onto the roof in one single bound that flexed his thighs and ass _quite nicely_. Stiles had to clamber up on a deck chair and scrabble up while straining his biceps painfully. 

Once he was on the roof, he scrambled toward the front of the house, where Derek and Isaac were snarling at a woman with enormous russet and brown wings out stretched behind her. 

She didn’t look all that impressed with them, and launched herself into the air, touching down immediately in front of Stiles, blinking at him. She had big, almond shaped brown eyes and dark sepia skin, a benign smile on red-painted lips as she reached out and shoved him off the roof. 

He let out a sharp yell of shock, arms windmilling as he went over the edge. 

Isaac let out a roar of rage and lunged at the woman and agony ripped down Stiles’s back with a tearing noise as he fell through the air. 

Somehow through the screaming, he managed to catch the tips of his fingers against the edge of the shingles, sobs choking him as the pain on his back intensified, blood seeping through the ripped tatters of his shirt, down to soak his jeans. 

“Stiles!” Derek reached over the edge of the roof and yanked him up, pulling him close. He swiped his thumbs over Stiles’s cheeks until the sobs slowed, the pain receding. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he rasped, stepping back and nearly falling off the roof again. 

Derek’s grip on his upper arm tightened. He looked pale and furious. His eyes were brilliant red and his fangs were cutting into his lips. 

“Perhaps, Alpha, you should cultivate that protective instinct in your betas. It was quite sweet how he was so protective of Stiles. It would have been even better if he’d have actually tried to _help_ him,” the woman said from behind them.

Stiles tried to turn his head, but Derek caught his chin, carefully keeping his claws away from his skin. 

“Don’t. Just…it’s gonna be okay.” 

“Of course it is. I can’t believe it took so long for them to come in.” 

“Be quiet,” Derek growled, eyes flicking to the woman behind him. 

“I will not.” She stepped lightly around so that Stiles could see her; her wings were closer to her body now, relaxed and resting against her shoulders. “Hello, Stiles. I’m Charlie. I’m here to teach you.” 

Stiles was shaking too hard to answer. He wasn’t in much pain anymore—at least not in his back. His fingers were burning like he’d pulled something out of the oven bare handed, and a glance down showed that his fingertips and fingernails had been torn to shreds. 

Charlie sighed. “I have a lot to teach you. For instance, your wings hadn’t yet come in, so I fixed that.” 

Stiles lifted wide eyes to Derek’s. He wasn’t sure if he was still shaking from his near plummet off the roof, or from the pure agony he’d felt while trying to hold onto the roof. 

Derek swallowed audibly. 

“Alpha, has _any_ threat so far come from my kind, rather than the Laeb? I’m here to help Stiles, seeing as he’s untrained and in possession of powers he doesn’t understand and is probably misusing.” She glanced toward Stiles and smiled gently. “Not that it’s on purpose, of course. You’ve probably broken a couple of things, rearranged some furniture, knocked people over?” 

Stiles nodded, tried to find his voice. 

Charlie smiled again. “Come on, I think your neighbors might find us strange.”

“We don’t have neighbors close enough to notice,” Isaac snapped. “You could have killed him,” he added, garbled around his fangs.

Charlie sighed. “I would have caught him if his wings hadn’t have reacted. Now, let’s get down.” She didn’t wait for an invitation this time; she just shook her wings out and stepped lightly off the edge of the roof.

Isaac snapped his teeth and followed her. 

“Can I—is it alright if I—I’m going to get you off the roof now,” Derek said gruffly, and tucked Stiles close to his chest and jumped off with his hands tight around his shoulders. 

On the ground, Stiles turned his head to look. 

The wings trailing on the ground were wet with blood, and tatters of flesh hung from the feathers. It reminded Stiles, inexplicably, of when bucks rubbed the velvet off their antlers, all gore and hanging skin. 

Bile rose in his throat and he jerked away from Derek, hiccupping dangerously, but Derek grabbed his arm and steadied him before he could fall over; he was off balance, dizzy and his back heavier than he was used to. It was like wearing a backpack that he had nerves attached to. He could feel the feathers dragging against the grass, the blood slipping off of them the same way he’d have felt something on his arm. 

“I’m gonna hose you off, okay?” Derek said softly, stepping back. 

Stiles nodded and gripped the edge of the porch, steadying himself. 

Derek was careful with the hose, starting at the top of Stiles’s shoulders, gently rubbing the blood and skin off with his hand and the icy water. 

He shuddered when Derek started in on the feathers, smoothing them down and working his fingers between them, straightening and twisting them gently back into the right direction. 

“Okay, it’s all off.” Derek stepped back and let the hose droop at his side as he studied the wings.

Stiles looked over his shoulder. The feathers were a mixture of browns, tans, russets, and a few slashes of gold in some places. The wings themselves were about twenty feet long, heavy and no longer painful on his spine. 

There was a fine tremor running through them, and they were cold and wet, the sort of feeling like when his hair was wet. 

With barely a thought, he pulled the wings up from the ground and shook his shoulders, shaking water off of the feathers. 

Derek stepped back, his eyes on the wings that were arching upward, stretching toward the sun and warming up. 

Experimentally, Stiles flexed them forward and back, a flap that sent a gust of wind through the backyard so powerful that Derek’s shirt snapped against his chest. He blinked and let a small smile curl his lips. He was exhausted, and he had phantom pain in his back, his fingers were burning something fierce, but the wings were magnificent. So big and powerful and he just wanted to test them out.

“How are they gonna—how am I gonna wear shirts?” he asked suddenly, when he realized his shirt was just barely hanging on at the shoulders. 

“She probably knows,” Derek said, nodding toward the porch. “Here.” He tugged the shirt off and let Stiles see how badly torn it was. 

“Am I still bleeding?” he asked, turning his head again to try to see over his shoulders; the wings lowered a bit. 

“No, it looks like the skin closed up,” Derek mumbled, stepping around and prodding at the spot where the wings connected to his back. “There’s some sort of…there’s like an indention in your skin on either side of your spine. Like they’ll tuck in close. Pull them in, let’s see. It’s not like you can go in the house like that.”

Stiles pulled them in—much the way he’d pull his arms up against his sides, really—and let them fold up against his back. They were warm and damp, but it didn’t feel too awkward, the weight like a small backpack. 

“Yeah, they tuck right…right up against your back,” Derek said gruffly. He cleared his throat. “Under a shirt, you probably wouldn’t be able to tell too much—no one who knows how many layers you wear would notice.” 

Stiles nodded, reaching back and just barely managing to touch the upper curve of the wing with his fingertip. “How weird does it look?” he asked, shoulders drooping.

“Doesn’t,” Derek grunted, and steered him toward the house.

Stiles turned his head and a grin stretched over his face. “You _like it_ , don’t you? You like the wings.”

“Shut-up, Stiles.”

“No, seriously, do you like them?”

Exasperated, Derek grabbed Stiles by the upper arms and swung him around so they were facing each other, but only for a moment, before he hauled him up and kissed him hard, nipping at his lips. 

Stiles let out a shaky sigh and tried to lift his hands, get them in Derek’s hair, but Derek was already stepping back.

“ _Yes_ , I like the way you look with them,” he muttered, jerking his head toward the house.

Charlie was waiting right beside the door, ignoring Isaac as he scowled at her in a half-shift, fists clenched. 

“I see you’ve managed to pull your wings in,” she said with an approving nod. “It’s supposed to come naturally to you, but I’ve never met anyone who’s _never_ had their wings.”

“How did she remove them?” he blurted. “That girl—Kestrel, I guess—said that my mom had had her wings removed, too. How did she do that?”

Charlie pursed her lips and stepped back from the door, giving them space for Derek to crowd in behind Stiles. “A loved one can remove your powers. Basically, the faery magic that lives in your veins can be removed. Claudia’s was removed by her brother’s wife. Then, when you were born, she removed yours and left it in possession of Angelica. When Mila found out, she demanded that the magic be kept in a safe place—we have no idea what would happen if a Laeb got ahold of it. Your cousin…Kestrel, that is, the girl who found you, recently found out about it and stole it.”

“Why would she do that, though?” Stiles asked, shifting forward on his toes. 

“Isaac,” Derek said abruptly. “Go keep watch outside.”

Isaac let out a low, protesting whine. He didn’t move, the protective instinct warring with the instinct to follow his alpha’s instructions. 

“ _Now_ , Isaac. We’ll be fine.” 

Isaac ducked his head and went outside quickly; as he passed, he touched a hand lightly to Stiles’s wrist, like he had been waiting for Stiles to tell him to stay. Stiles turned his head and saw Isaac stripping his clothes off on the porch, so he turned away quickly.

Derek watched as Isaac fully shifted, his brown-gold fur shimmering as he leapt off the porch and started pacing around the backyard.

“He needed to relax and get the smell of a stranger out,” Derek muttered when Stiles shot him an accusatory look. 

“He’s very protective,” Charlie observed serenely. She looked back at Stiles. “Kestrel was…” she pressed her lips together, a cloud of grief passing over her face momentarily. “She was adventurous and strong-willed, and believed that you should be given the choice about whether you wanted to use your powers or not. So, in a move that was _quite_ like her, she broke into the safe and stole it.” 

“She was Stiles’s cousin, right?” Derek asked, reaching out to cup his hand around Stiles’s elbow.

“Yes,” Charlie confirmed, sighing. “She was my student, as well.” She shook her head sadly. “She was being trained to be Rahnezaor. She _was_ Rahnezaor, you must be born into it, but she was being trained to guard us.”

“And what’s the difference between Rahnezaor and the rest of the Maol?” Stiles asked, letting Derek lead him to the couch. 

“Well, the rest of us can only create light, for one thing. You have telekinesis, and fire, right? The rest of us can’t do that.” She cupped her hands and created a ball of light, let it spread. “The light is healing and protective, but it’s not as good in fights as telekinesis and fire.” 

“So…are you going to teach me to fly?” Stiles asked, his wings twitching. “And how am I going to wear shirts? How am I going to be able to fly, by the way? These wings are pretty strong, but humans are heavy.” 

“You aren’t human,” she said with a smile. “But yes, I’m going to teach you that, and how to control your powers, the same way I was teaching Kestrel.”

“I have a question,” Derek said in a quietly threatening voice. “Why are the Laeb even here? They’re supposed to be native to Poland.”

Charlie blinked once. “They follow us. There are quite a lot of us here at the moment.”

“ _Why?_ ”

She turned her head just a little. “I will explain it all in a moment. For now…shall we clean up the mess Stiles has made?”

Derek grunted and reached out to fix the couch, but she gestured at him to stop.

“No, Stiles will be cleaning it up. With his powers.”

Stiles had a feeling that he was going to break more than a single window.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was probably boring in comparison to the others, but I thought it was cute and fun to write, plus I couldn't drag it on any longer, ha.

When Stiles had successfully put the couch back where it’d started, and put the TV back up on the stand, he devoured most of the contents of Derek and Isaac’s kitchen without truly tasting any of it. He was ravenous enough to start digging into the peanut butter with just a spoon while Derek was frantically calling for Chinese delivery. 

“You’ll have to go grocery shopping,” Charlie told them, pulling her curls back into a ponytail. 

“Where are your wings?” Stiles asked, swallowing a lump of peanut butter. “How did you not rip your shirt?”

“My shirt is already ripped,” she said, and obligingly turned so he could see her shirt; he didn’t _see_ any tears, which she must have realized, because she slowly started to extend her wings, the edges poking out of thin slits in the back. “Cut would be the appropriate term, I suppose. All of our clothes are made to accommodate our wings.” She pulled her wings back in and turned around to face them again. 

“Why are the Laeb here?” Derek asked, shoving his phone back into his pocket. 

Charlie regarded him thoughtfully. “Because we are here. There are Maol not only in Beacon Hills, but spread between quite a few small California towns with high concentrations of magic. The Laeb sensed the magic and have started spreading their hunting grounds. We protect people from the Laeb, and so we followed them.”

“You lied,” Derek said. He tipped his head. “Or told a half truth.”

“ _Werewolves_ ,” Charlie said in exasperation. “Perhaps the part of the truth that I hid from you simply isn’t your business.”

“It _is_ our business if it’s killing our neighbors,” Stiles pointed out, eyeing the loaf of bread and wondering if it was worth the belly ache. 

“It would be your business, Stiles,” she said lightly. “Just not his.”

“I’m part of the pack. My business is their business.” 

Derek’s shoulders seem to straighten, his chest expanding just a bit, and Stiles would have to tease him about that later, he was _preening_ , the big goof. 

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged. “It would be nice to have the help of a pack of werewolves, I suppose.” She ran her fingers through her bangs and said, “We’re looking for a princess. The Maol are governed by a queen and a council of decision makers we call Obiel.” She waved her hand. “The terminology doesn’t matter at the moment—I can teach you that later. Princess Dia is somewhere in the vicinity, and we’ve been sent out to bring her back before the Laeb can kill her.”

“Seriously, a runaway princess? Is this a Disney movie?” Stiles demanded, throwing his hands up.

Charlie was unamused. “No.”

“So…what do you want us to do, help you find her? Why?”

“Let’s not get into the politics of it for now, Stiles.” She put her hands on her hips. “When Dia is found, we will leave, and most of the Laeb will follow. The rest that are left, well, those will be your responsibility, Alpha.” She glanced at Derek, who just stared back at her impassively. 

Isaac came back in as he was tugging his jeans on, looking disgruntled. “I’m allowed back in the house now?” he asked petulantly, hitching the denim over his hips. 

Derek lifted his brows and waited for the defensive tension to ease out of Isaac’s shoulders. “I need you to go grocery shopping. We’re going to need a lot of food, probably things that can make big meals.”

“Protein,” Charlie added with a small smile. 

Isaac shot her a look that stated quite firmly that he wasn’t taking _her_ advice. “Are you guys coming?”

“No, Charlie’s got some things to teach Stiles. But, if it makes you feel any better, the rest of the pack is on their way, except Boyd, who’s going to meet you at the store.” 

Isaac’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t I wait until they get here?” The tone of his voice sounded perilously close to a whine, and he must have heard it, because he flushed. 

“Come here,” Derek said, gesturing for Isaac to follow him into the living room. 

“We’re going to target practice after you eat,” Charlie informed him, tapping her fingers against the counter. “You’ve gotten a handle on the telekinesis faster than I thought you would, which is good. Nothing broke when you were putting the living room back together, at least.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, clenching his hands around the edge of the table. His limbs felt weird, like he was experiencing…growing pains? Maybe he was just sore; he _had_ had a pretty ridiculous week so far.

“Food’s here,” Derek said, stepping back into the kitchen. “And Scott and the rest.”

The rest of the pack was unimpressed with Charlie until they realized that Stiles now had wings. Then the party got moved outside—food and all—so that they could both spread their wings out and show them off.

“Twenty-one feet long,” Lydia said, studying Stiles like an experiment that had been put directly under her microscope. “Is that relaxed?” she asked, reaching for the left wing and running her fingers along the feathers; it shuddered a little at the contact. 

“No, that isn’t. I’m holding them up.” He let them relax and watched as they lowered and rested just over his shoulders, heavy and warm. He could feel the line of them against the backs of his arms, the tips of the feathers trailing against the backs of his legs. 

Folded up, they would rest from shoulder to the base of his spine, but resting like this, they seemed to take up more space.

“The colors are beautiful, Stiles,” Kira said. “Can I touch?” she asked, hopping down the steps. 

“Sure,” he muttered, trying not to feel like a show pony. 

Lydia turned on Charlie. “Your wings are about the same length as his, a bit longer. Because you’re taller.”

“Yes,” she replied with a faint smile.

“How can you fly with them? They’re powerful, sure, but a grown person is heavy.”

“Maol bones are hollow, like a birds, so we’re lighter than humans. Not quite as heavy. We’re taller than humans, too, tall and thin. We’re fast and strong, too,” she said with a smirk. “Stiles should practice his fighting, as well as his powers.”

“I can fight!” Stiles crossed his arms, and his wings pressed down on top of his shoulders like they were shielding him. “I’m not as strong as werewolves, but I can still defend myself,” he muttered.

“You’ll need to get used to your new strength, and to learn to use your powers _while_ fighting.” She didn’t look all too impressed with the idea of a human being able to hold their own in a fight without powers or super strength.

Which was pure bullshit.

“You know, I somehow managed to survive twenty years without powers, I’m pretty sure I can handle myself well enough,” he snapped. 

“Spread your wings again,” Lydia commanded.

“Why?” he sighed, and stretched them out cautiously. 

“That girl that gave you the bottle let her wings touch the ground,” Erica said, crossing her legs from her perch on the porch railing. “See if you can do that.”

He shrugged and let the wings droop, like his shoulders were relaxing and slumping; the wings trailed on the ground on either side of him. It didn’t feel good—sort of dejected, actually. He brought them up and shook them off, bringing them a little closer to his body. They were bent like arms at the elbow, taking up maybe ten feet of space now instead of twenty. 

Lydia was studying them still, walking in a circle around him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt—didn’t have any clothes until Scott had brought some for him—so she could see where the wings connected to his back.

“Alright,” she said finally. “I’m done.” She stepped back and started typing on her phone, pointing at her side when Jackson made some sort of noise; he slunk to where she’d pointed immediately.

Stiles reached back to scratch his shoulder and brushed against the wing, feathers soft against his knuckles. He couldn’t reach where he needed to scratch, and ended up doing some sort of frantic scrabbling dance trying to get it.

Derek’s blunt human nails dragged down the middle of his spine, right between where his wing joints met his spine, and Stiles’s whole body went lax, wings easing down to rest against his shoulders again. “Better?”

“Little lower,” he sighed, arching his back into Derek’s fingers. “Thank you.” He tilted his head back to look at him, and smiled when he rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I thought I was going to _die_.” 

Derek leaned forward and knocked his chin against Stiles’s forehead, giving him a little shove.

Charlie gestured for him to come closer. “You should start practicing your aim now. Bring that chair closer,” she said, pointing toward the broken deck chair that had been banished to the far side of the yard for eventual repairs.

“What, like, just fling it over?”

“No, drag it over from here.”

Stiles twisted his lips but nodded, looking at the chair with intensity he usually reserved for Derek’s ass. 

Derek huffed and moved back to sit on the porch steps, like he’d recognized the look on Stiles’s face and gotten jealous; it made Stiles grin as he flicked his hand toward the chair.

It shot into the air and crashed back down.

“Lots of power,” Charlie said approvingly. “Very little finesse.” 

Erica said, “Just like Derek, I bet,” and Allison let out a muffled snort of laughter, shooting Derek a guilty look as it came out.

Derek just sighed and rested his elbows against his knees, watching.

Stiles screwed his lips together and tried again, instead flicking his hand out and then gesturing his fingers toward himself, that come-forth gesture he’d seen in movies.

To his utter delight, the chair shot over; unfortunately, it nailed him right in the gut and knocked him on his ass. Winded, he lay there for a moment, wheezing and regretting his life choices.

“Well…that was a bit closer,” Charlie said delicately. “And you’ve got the hand motions mostly down. Next time, turn your palm around to stop the chair, until it’s a fluid motion, so that you don’t even realize you’re doing it.”

She made him practice until he had it right and had also eaten a mound of spaghetti that Isaac had cooked when he and Boyd got back from the store. Luckily, they’d thoughtfully made an enormous vat of it, mindful of how much werewolves could put away _and_ Stiles’s new appetite. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, stuffing a last forkful in his mouth.

“Ugh, Stilinski, you’re disgusting,” Jackson said, artfully using two fucking forks for his spaghetti like some sort of spaghetti eating expert. 

“Shut the fuck up, Jackson.” He wasn’t all that intimidated anymore; he could flick Jackson across the yard just by waving his hand, what did he have to be afraid of?

Apparently, he had Charlie to be afraid of. She wanted him to target practice with the fire after lunch. 

“Instead of letting the fire just come from your palms, I want you to do this.” She flicked her fingers wide in a motion reminiscent of Piper from Charmed that made Stiles snicker. She arched her brow. “Now you try?”

The first two times, he flung things across the yard; the third time, beams of light shattered at his feet. 

“I can’t figure out how to get the fire to work if I’m not scared.”

“It should be instinctive. You want to use the fire,” Charlie said calmly, “and so you should. The way that you don’t have to truly think of moving your legs to walk, or moving your wings, you should be able to use the fire.” 

“Well, I can’t,” Stiles snapped, flushing. “It just…happens when I’m scared.”

“Yes, you can.” Charlie looked over him, and nodded. “Alright. Next is learning to use your new strength in a fight.” She looked at the pack, all of whom were lounging on and around each other on the deck, bored but happy with each other’s company. “Who can you safely spar with?” 

“Any of them,” Derek snapped, sitting up suddenly. “He’s pack and we don’t hurt each other.” 

Charlie lifted her brows, looking unimpressed. “Sure you don’t. Then send someone down here to spar with him. I’d like to see how he does, and if he knows how to use his own strength.” 

“So he needs a human sparring partner,” Allison said, standing up.

Charlie shook her head. “Unsafe; he could break your ribs or other bones without even realizing it.” 

Allison rolled her eyes like the thought was ridiculous, but shrugged and sat back down. “Who, then?”

“I’ll do it,” Boyd said, standing and bounding off the porch.

Derek nodded at them; they’d actually sparred before, because Boyd was the most patient and willing to let Stiles practice his fighting techniques against werewolves. 

Stiles automatically shifted so he was in position, balancing his weight out and letting Boyd run at him first. They’d always done it that way, since Stiles was usually being chased if he was fighting werewolves. 

He sidestepped and smacked his palms against Boyd’s forearm, knocking it off track. Something had changed; Boyd wobbled and looked shocked for it. He spun around and threw his elbow at Stiles’s shoulder; Stiles thrust his palm up, flinging Boyd’s arm out of his way, jabbing his own elbow into Boyd’s ribs. He wheezed and his eyes flared gold as he lunged at Stiles; from the porch, Derek let out a low warning growl, but Boyd was already snarling and swiping at Stiles.

Stiles reacted faster than he ever could have before, jamming the heel of his hand up under Boyd’s snapping jaw, forcing his head away. Boyd snarled and shoved Stiles back a full step; before he could come closer, Stiles shifted to a cat stance and snapped a kick right at Boyd’s middle; the double-toned cracking of two breaking ribs made Stiles freeze.

The pain seemed to bring Boyd back to himself, as he wobbled back and clutched his ribs. Before he could apologize, though, Derek had lunged off of the porch and taken him down, one hand on his throat; Boyd submitted instantly, turning his head to the side and freezing.

“Sorry,” he rasped, keeping his eyes lowered. 

“What happened?” Derek demanded through his fangs.

“Surprised me; not used to him being able to actually hurt me,” Boyd mumbled. 

“Uh, are your ribs okay?” Stiles asked, stepping around Derek to lean over and peer at Boyd’s face.

“Yeah, they healed. Nice kick, you finally got that cat stance down,” he said conversationally from beneath his alpha, who was still pinning him to the ground with a hand on his throat. 

“Derek,” Stiles said slowly, “it’s fine. I’m okay. He didn’t even hit me. I think I caused more damage than he did, and let me tell you, that was weird.” 

Derek turned his head and relaxed. “Yeah.” He eased off of Boyd and sat back. “You were moving pretty fast there, Stiles.”

“It was _awesome_ ,” Scott said from where he was right behind them.

Stiles turned and found most of the pack was gathered directly behind them, like they’d intended on interfering. Erica pounced on top of Boyd and playfully bit his ear, announcing that they needed to go for a run. 

“Why don’t all of you go in your fur, check out the woods, make sure the area around the house is safe, run off some energy?” Derek suggested, standing up.

“You should run off some energy, too, Der,” Isaac suggested, but he glanced toward Stiles. 

“I can later. I have things to do here.” 

Stiles sighed. “I think it’s pretty clear that I can defend myself after that. I did just break Boyd’s _ribs_. Which I didn’t even think I was capable of.” 

“Doesn’t matter. Go on, guys,” Derek said, shooing them.

One by one, the pack that was capable of shifting shed their clothes with absolutely zero care for the fact that people could see them and dropped down to their fur, Scott’s deep brown fur standing out when he bumped up against Isaac’s side playfully. They all gathered around Derek’s legs like puppies, even Jackson, who was less of an ass when he was in his fur, tails wagging, tongues lulling out.

“You guys are fine; go on.” He let his hand rest on Isaac’s head for a moment, making him quiver excitedly. 

Lydia got up. “If they’re going to run around like that, Allison and I are going to go buy some bathing suits.”

“Don’t you already _have_ bathing suits?” Stiles asked, turning his head.

“From last year. We didn’t have time to buy some new ones this year yet,” Lydia said with an eye roll. “You’re welcome to join us, Kira,” she offered, but Kira had already shifted into a fox form, chasing after the wolves. Scott took a playful snap at her tail as they ran. 

“Your pack is strange,” Charlie observed while the girls said they’d be back later. 

Derek straightened up and crossed his arms, brows furrowing at her threateningly.

“Boyd had been hurt,” she explained, “but they were at Stiles’s back.”

“Boyd is stronger than Stiles, and he can heal; Stiles can’t,” Derek pointed out. “We’re used to protecting the humans in the pack from any werewolf idiocy.” 

Charlie pursed her lips and shrugged, accepting his answer. “Yes, alright. Stiles, tomorrow, we practice flying. You’ve done enough today.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Can you help me cut my shirts, then?”

She got a strange look on her face. “I’m sure your alpha can handle that,” she said lightly. “Now, will I be permitted to stay here, or shall I find other accommodations?” 

Derek eyed her like he was trying to decide how necessary she was. He glanced toward Stiles, who was trying out extending one wing at a time. His left wing stretched out too fast and smacked into Derek’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. 

“We have an extra room,” Derek said, brushing feathers off his face.


	6. Chapter 6

After he’d gotten Charlie settled into the guest room, Derek sat with Stiles in his own room with some scissors and a few t-shirts Stiles was willing to sacrifice.

“Just hold still,” Derek said, climbing onto the bed behind Stiles, sitting cross legged. “I’m only going to cut enough for the wings to come out.”

Stiles pursed his lips and pulled the shirt over his head, immediately grimacing at how trapped it felt suddenly just to be wearing a shirt. 

Derek used the edge of the scissors to make a small incision by Stiles’s shoulder blades. “Stretch your wings out—slowly, don’t just fling them out, you’ll rip the shirt again.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles muttered, and loosened the wings a little, letting them press up against the tears Derek had made. 

“Tell me if I cut you,” he said, starting to cut down the line of his shirt. 

When he was done, Stiles stretched the wings out a little, found they slid through easily, without causing any rips. “Thanks.”

“Take it back off so I can cut the other shirts,” Derek said, nudging him with his knee. 

“Finally,” Stiles muttered, grinning at him when Derek looked annoyed. 

“That’s not what I meant,” he huffed as Stiles yanked the shirt up over his head.

He froze when Derek pressed his palms against the wings, rubbing gently against the joint. 

“What are you doing?” he asked nervously, starting to turn around.

“You—never mind.” Derek yanked his hands away like he was embarrassed, taking the shirt from Stiles’s lap and lining it up next to one of the others. “Sorry,” he said gruffly, quickly and precisely cutting the shirts in the same spots.

“You don’t think the wings are—I mean, I know you said you liked them, but I thought that meant, like, cool, bro, wings, but…”

“Why do you call them _the wings_?” Derek asked, setting the scissors on the night stand, frowning at him. “Instead of _your_ wings?”

_Really,_ Stiles thought, _Alpha Issues wants to psychoanalyze me?_ He huffed and shrugged at him.

“I don’t know, I didn’t really think about it,” he said, and leaned forward until he was nearly nose to nose with Derek. “Have been thinking of something else, though,” he said softly, letting his lips brush against Derek’s as he spoke.

Derek didn’t look too impressed with his distraction methods, but he brought his hand up to cup the back of Stiles’s neck, bringing him forward and kissing him. 

Stiles sighed and curled his hand in Derek’s shirt, shifting closer on the bed until his knees bumped Derek’s; he sucked lightly on Derek’s bottom lip as he moved onto his lap, knees squeezing around his thighs. 

Derek sighed and pressed his thumb up under Stiles’s jaw, his other hand moving to grip Stiles’s hip, tugging him closer.

Stiles pressed his palm against Derek’s jaw, sliding his other hand up to grip his hair, laughing when Derek snorted. 

Between curling of tongues and nipping of teeth, somehow they ended up laying down, panting and running their hands over each other, and Stiles found himself trembling, but he didn’t realize why until Derek jerked back, blinking blearily and catching at Stiles’s hands. 

They were lit up, pressing the light into Derek’s skin wherever they skimmed. 

Stiles swore and sat back, though Derek drew his own knees up, letting Stiles rest back against them—and preventing him from trying to move away too far. 

“I can’t even make-out anymore?” Stiles demanded, glaring at his own palms. “What next, am I going to throw the lamp out the window trying to unbutton your pants?” he snapped, clenching his hands into fists. 

Derek raised his brows at him. “You done?” He pressed his thumbs into the dips of Stiles’s hips, rubbing lightly. “It doesn’t bother me, except that it makes you tired when you don’t realize you’re doing it.”

“How did you notice it? Did it hurt?” he asked miserably, running his fingertips over the back of Derek’s hand. 

“I felt you starting to shake—and you were getting cold. And it doesn’t, ah, hurt,” he said, turning his gaze toward the window. “Feels good, actually.” 

“ _Really?_ ” he asked, curiously. “Like what? Like warmth, or…?” 

“I don’t _know_ , Stiles, it was just relaxing, it felt pleasant.” He squirmed a little, then asked, “Do you want me to get you something to eat?”

“What is _this?_ ” Stiles asked with a shaky grin. “I’m allowed to eat in sacred ground?” 

Derek huffed. “You’re _shaking_. I’m going to get something for you to eat, then we’re going to sleep.”

He got out of the bed before Stiles could ask—since when did he get invited to sleep in here? He’d never actually stayed the night in Derek’s bed. 

He was still sitting cross legged on the bed when Derek came back with three sandwiches on a plate and a sixteen ounce bottle of orange juice. 

“Where’d you find _those_ at Safeway?” Stiles asked, twisting the top off the bottle.

“Isaac and Boyd went to Costco,” he said calmly, setting the plate in his lap and climbing onto the bed. 

The idea of the pack having a joint Costco membership was _hilarious_ to Stiles, every time he thought about it he got a little giggle out of it. 

After eating, Stiles fully expected to pick up where they’d left off, had even started climbing into Derek’s lap, when Derek shoved him off and pulled the blanket out from under them, tucking him up under the blanket.

“What-” he started, but Derek didn’t speak, instead just curling down and around Stiles’s back, shushing him.

“If you do what Charlie tells you to do tomorrow, when you’re done training we can go on a proper date.”

“Where-” 

“Go to sleep, Stiles.” Derek hooked his chin over Stiles’s shoulder, huffing. 

Stiles shifted the wings a little, pressed them into the warmth of Derek’s chest; Derek let out a contented rumble and pressed closer. 

 

He woke up with his arms tucked between his chest and Derek’s back, his face pressed against Derek’s neck. Their legs were tangled together, Derek’s socked feet trapped between Stiles’s. It felt weirdly domestic, which freaked him out, so he wiggled out of bed and grabbed his t-shirt, pulling it on and shaking his wings out a little. 

He went out to the living room and found the pack piled together in the middle of the floor, the coffee table propped up on the wall out of the way. Erica shifted her arm tighter around Isaac’s stomach, nuzzling her face against Boyd’s neck, where her head was resting. 

Lydia was curled up with Jackson and Allison, as undignified as she ever managed to be, her hand resting on Jackson’s head where it was resting near her hip, her cheek lightly against Allison’s shoulder. 

Stiles found himself smiling at them and shook himself, turning to go outside to the back porch. He didn’t flinch when Scott followed him outside, having extracted himself from Kira and Isaac’s grips. 

They closed the door and sat next to each other on the porch steps. 

Scott let out little huffs as he sniffed at Stiles’s shoulder.

“Stop it,” Stiles muttered, pushing his head away, making him laugh.

“You slept in his room,” Scott pointed out. “Is that like, a new thing, or…?” 

“Yeah. I mean, it was the first time we slept in the same bed, obviously.” Stiles shifted a little, felt warmth on his right wing and realized he’d spread it out enough to rest across Scott’s shoulders. “Sorry,” he said, starting to pull it back in.

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s warm,” he said, pushing back against the feathers.

“You guys are taking the wings better than I am,” Stiles complained, crossing his arms. 

“Well, you’re the one who hangs out with a pack of werewolves, a kitsune, and a banshee. I can’t believe it’s taking _you_ this long to get used to it. But I get why.” 

“Oh, yeah?” he asked sarcastically. “Enlighten me.” 

“Well, it’s basically the first thing that’s happened to you since... You’re used to us being the ones with the powers and the weird reactions, and now that you have all this going on, it’s just taking a while to adapt.” He smiled and bumped his shoulder up against Stiles’s. 

He sighed and rubbed his face. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” 

“Of course I am. Now, tell me about the knife Isaac gave you that you’re hiding in your room.” 

“Did Isaac tell you that?” When he nodded, Stiles sighed. “It’s just the knife that woman dropped. It has initials on it, and the words _Mother, warrior, guardian_ on it in Polish.” He looked at his knees. “There’s not really much chance that it belonged to my mom, but the initials _do_ match hers.”

“Her initials being CBR?” Scott asked gently, pressing his arm against Stiles’s for comfort. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. “The thing is, she was _married_ when she had me, so she wasn’t a _mother_ when her last name was Rozum.” 

“That could have been added later,” Scott pointed out, and Stiles let out a helpless laugh.

“You and Isaac said the same thing, but if she still had the knife when she married my dad and had me, or was pregnant with me, how did my dad not know about the Maol?”

Scott’s face did something strange. “Are you sure he doesn’t know?”

Stiles frowned. “Don’t you think he would’ve reacted a little better to the whole _werewolf thing_ if he’d known about a race of _faeries?_ ” 

“I guess, yeah. But…well, never mind. I’m gonna ask Deaton some questions later.” He smiled blandly. “So, wanna play around with your powers? I promise not to bite you or claw you no matter how many of my ribs you break,” he said with a grin. 

“I don’t want to break your ribs!” Stiles hissed, his wings pulling in tight to his body, trembling with the effort to hold them against himself so tightly. 

“They’ll heal. Come on.” 

Scott eventually poked and prodded enough that Stiles got up and, laughing, knocked him on his ass in a quick sparring match; he was up immediately, and they wrestled for about twenty minutes before Stiles, laughing, fell on his back to catch his breath.

“Man, how long has it been since we could safely do _that?_ ” Scott asked happily, flopping down beside him, draping one of his legs over Stiles’s. “Look, you even bruised me a little!” he said, grinning as a bruise faded on his arm. 

Stiles nodded. “And you _didn’t_ bruise me,” he pointed out.

“That’s because you’re freaking _fast_ , man. Derek always said we weren’t very fast because nature intended us to turn and fight rather than run away, but I always felt like we were faster than pretty much everything else. I guess that was just compared to humans, because you are _fast_.” 

“Stop saying it like that,” Stiles muttered. “ _Fast_ , like it’s a new word.”

“For you it is,” Scott teased, elbowing him lightly. “What’s the matter?” he asked, looking toward Stiles’s face.

“Just thinking…am I better this way?” he asked, looking at his hands, letting light flicker over his fingers. “Does everyone prefer me this way?”

Scott sat up on his elbow a little. “What do you mean? We like that you’re not…quite as fragile, if that’s what you mean, but you were fine the way you were. You were pack that way, too.” 

Stiles didn’t answer, humming noncommittally. He flickered his fingers again, this time tiny flames dancing across the scraped up tips of his fingers. 

“Hey, you got it!” Scott said excitedly, watching the flames. He frowned. “You’re upset still.”

He sighed. “It’s really nothing, Scott.” He wondered how far up the flames would go, and got his answer when the flames spread to his wrists, covering his hands completely. He couldn’t feel them outside of the feeling of air moving over his hands, like he’d put them in front of a fan. 

Scott flinched, but he didn’t look worried, just surprised. “What does it feel like?”

“Just air,” Stiles said dispassionately, watching the flames on his hands. He guessed Charlie was right; he really didn’t have to think about it. 

“Can I try to touch it?” Scott asked, reaching out.

The flames went out immediately. “No! What if it burned you?” Stiles demanded, irritated. 

“I didn’t smell any burning flesh…” Scott said hesitantly. “I promise _not_ to touch it if it feels hot.”

Stiles sighed and held his hand up above them, the flames appearing again. “Just don’t burn yourself.”

Scott grinned and reached out. He passed his fingers through flames and he yanked his hands back, yelping. The burns had already healed by the time he got them to his mouth. “Well, maybe it just doesn’t burn you.” 

“No shit.” Stiles let the flames fade away and clenched his hand. “Feel this one.” Light spread down Stiles’s palm. 

Scott held his hand out, ready to touch, but Stiles passed it to him the way he’d done with Derek, letting the light spread down his arm. He smiled. “Feels nice; like sleeping in your own bed after a long trip or something.”

Stiles laughed and dropped his arm. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re _always_ hungry now.” Scott took in a deep breath. “Besides, Isaac is bringing breakfast out to us right now.”

Isaac brought out a few platters of food and some plates, sitting cross legged beside them. Behind him came Boyd, Erica, and the rest, carrying drinks and plates; everyone sat in the grass together in varying stages of undress, drowsily eating together and leaning up against each other. Derek hadn’t woken up yet, and no one wanted to be close enough to the house to wake him.

“I left some food for him on the stove,” Isaac said when Allison asked whether they should make sure to save him some. 

“Awesome,” Stiles said, snagging some more sausage and eggs. “Thanks, Isaac.”

“Your eggs are better. How do you get them so fluffy?” he demanded, chewing his slightly less fluffy eggs morosely. 

“I will never reveal my secrets,” Stiles said, folding his eggs into the toast. “But it really is good, so thanks.”

Isaac seemed pleased and continued to eat with a small smile. 

“Did you sleep okay, Stiles?” Erica asked sweetly.

“Great,” he said with a wide grin that made the bruises on his face twinge. 

“Your face looks like it’s healing,” Boyd said, as if to counter Erica’s biting words.

Stiles nodded and brushed his fingers over his jaw and nose as he scooped up another bite. When he turned to say something to Scott, he laughed, because Kira was wiping ketchup off her face after Scott had missed her mouth with the eggs he’d tried to be cute and feed her.

“Leave cute to us, McCall,” Erica said, grinning wickedly.

“I think we’re the cute ones,” Kira said cheerfully, kissing Scott on the mouth and blushing just slightly.

“Alright,” Erica conceded. “Then we’re the sexy ones, right, babe?” she melted against Boyd’s side, nipping his jaw.

“No, _we’re_ the sexy ones,” Jackson said, yanking Lydia up against him and kissing her thoroughly. She smacked his shoulder once before grabbing his hair and pulling him closer. 

Erica huffed. “You are _not_.” 

Jackson pulled himself away from Lydia long enough to say, “Yeah we are,” before turning back as if he’d be welcomed.

Lydia wiped her mouth delicately and said, “If you’re more interested in arguing with Erica than kissing me, I’m done,” as she went back to her breakfast.

“We’re the sexy ones!” Erica crowed, and Jackson leaped at her, the both of them rolling across the yard together snarling and half shifting.

Once they’d fully shifted to wolves, Boyd rolled his eyes and shook his head, finishing off Jackson’s plate. 

Snarling, yips, and thumps started echoing around the yard, which the rest of the pack ignored. 

“Are they alright?” Allison asked, brows furrowed. She’d seen the pack wrestle before, but she’d never seen Jackson and Erica wrestle _each other_ , alone, before. 

“They’re just playing, now,” Boyd said as he leaned back to stretch out, propping his head on Isaac’s leg. 

Stiles stretched his legs out, enjoying the sunshine. He glanced toward the others hesitantly and slowly started to spread his wings, just enough to catch the warmth of the sun, too. 

He saw Lydia notice, and he saw the decision not to say anything about it cross her face. She offered an approving smile—a very small one—before talking to Allison about her next shooting lesson. 

“Derek’s looking for you,” Scott said quietly. “We’re out here,” he added in a slightly raised voice.

Derek came out a few minutes later with a plate of food, followed by Charlie, who was carrying a plate almost bigger than his. She sat at the table but Derek continued down to the grass to sit with the rest of the pack, deftly bending so he was sitting close to Stiles and under his wing. 

“Thanks, Isaac,” he said, tipping his head as he ate.

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you two done yet?” he asked, turning his head toward Jackson and Erica, who were still wrestling. 

Erica was sitting on Jackson’s chest, tugging on his ear with her teeth. 

“They aren’t,” Scott said helpfully, stretching out on his belly and letting his legs rest across Boyd’s. 

Once Charlie and Derek had finished eating, Boyd and Kira took the dishes in to clean up the mess. 

“So, how are you going to teach me to fly?” Stiles asked, stretching his wings out even further. He smiled when he felt Derek straightening up the feathers that had gotten rumpled or twisted in sleep. 

“You’ll be learning the way all the children learned. You have a bit of an advantage—we know that your wings are fully grown and ready to take your weight.” 

“Oh, joy.” Stiles stood up and stretched his wings out all the way, which was satisfying, like stretching your legs after sitting for too long. 

“I’ll need everyone to clear off the yard,” Charlie said firmly. “He’s going to need the space.”

“What if he gets up there and falls?” Scott asked, his face set.

“He won’t fall.”

“What _if?_ ” he asked insistently. 

“Then I hope you’ll believe me a better teacher than to let my student fall out of the _air._ ” She turned to the rest of the pack. “Space, please?”

Huffing and grumbling, they all cleared off the grass and moved onto the porch. 

Stiles had an audience for his first flying lesson, great. 

“I’ll stand down here,” Derek said, and Charlie didn’t argue.

“Just stay out of the way. It’s best to get a running start, Stiles. So, spread your wings all the way, start running, get some air under your wings, see where that gets you.”

“You’ve taught more than one person, haven’t you?” he asked flatly. “And your best advice is ‘see where that gets you’?”

“I find that it works, as your instincts will help you once you start.” 

He rolled his eyes and turned away, eyeing the long yard in front of him. He wasn’t a stranger to making a fool of himself, at least, so with that in mind, he took off running. 

It was different, running with enormous wings spread behind him. They caught the wind he created immediately, pulling at his back as he went. 

“Try flapping once you’ve gotten enough wind, and push off the ground with your legs!” Charlie called.

Stiles scoffed and kept running, then tried flapping his wings, surprised when he felt himself lift a bit off the ground. He pushed up with his legs like he was jumping, flapping until he was up higher, his feet no longer touching the grass. 

Once he was actually, legitimately _in the air_ , above the yard, wings working to keep him up, he realized what was happening. He yelped and kicked his legs out of reflex, arms paddling like his brain wasn’t sure if he was running or swimming but he was moving without using either legs or arms and it couldn’t quite compute that. 

Charlie flew up beside him, holding her hands out. “Calm down, calm down. Stop kicking your legs. You’re going to knock yourself off balance. And what are you doing with your arms?”

“Uh, I guess…trying to swim.” He flushed and crossed his arms over his chest, dropping a few feet down and flinging his arms out.

“Flap your wings harder. We’re a bit big for hovering, but it can be done.” She kept her distance, wary of tangling her wings with his. “You’re doing great, though. Don’t let yourself get panicked.”

“I’m not. I’m _fine_.” He flapped his wings harder, felt the burn like he was working out. “Now what?”

“Go back down and do it again.”

Stiles huffed. “Can’t we fly anywhere?”

Charlie looked pleasantly surprised. “Of course we can. We can fly out that way, over the trees.” She started flying toward the trees that pushed up against Derek’s backyard, leaning forward, her legs dangling down in a way that was kind of undignified, but Stiles guessed that it was better than holding your legs out straight behind you.

He followed her and found that moving with just wings was disconcerting, his legs dangling down just like hers, bent at the knees like he thought they were going to land sometime soon. 

“What’s that?” Stiles asked, pointing down toward the trees. He thought he’d seen something big running toward their house.

Charlie let out a small gasp. “Laeb. We need to let your alpha know that there are about six heading toward your house.”

“ _Why_ do they know where the house is?” Stiles demanded, spinning to face her. 

“Because you smell like Maol now, and I’m here as well. They’re hunting for us.” 

“I want to—I can stall them while you get the pack—?”

“No! You go get your pack. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

Stiles bit his lip and turned toward the house, wobbling a bit and taking a moment to get his balance back as he flew toward them.

“Guys, there’s Laeb in the trees, coming toward the house,” he gasped as soon as he was close enough to the house. He hadn’t asked Charlie how to land, so he just angled himself toward the ground, pulling his wings in a little closer as he went, trying to slow himself down. He ended up landing on his feet, wobbling, and dropping to his knees. He jumped back up in time for the pack to go racing past him, part of them in their full shifts, the rest in half-shifts.

Derek stopped to grab Stiles’s arm. “Just be careful,” he ordered, pulling him forward.

“I like my organs on the inside, of course I’m going to be careful,” Stiles snapped, racing after him.

It was to everyone’s surprise that Stiles managed to not only keep up with the wolves, but surpass them. He passed Boyd and Jackson first, then Scott, Kira, and Erica, throwing a stunned look over his shoulder at Scott, who expressed his shock with a dopey grin and wide eyes. 

“Stiles-!” Erica called, reaching for him to try to stop him, but he’d already run headlong into the Laeb that had been leading the group of them, both of them tumbling to the ground. 

The cat growled loudly, swiping at him, but he deflected with his forearm, avoiding those claws. He shoved at its chest with his palm out, sending it flying into another one, turning around to face the pack in time to get tackled. 

Hot, rancid breath washed over his face as the Laeb opened its mouth, ready to chomp on him. He flung his hands up and the fur on its face caught fire; he remembered letting the fire spread up his wrists that morning with Scott and did that, grabbing at the Laeb wherever he could reach, until it dropped off of him, dying. 

He turned to the next, kicking at its throat, letting its fur catch fire when his hand grazed it. A Laeb pounced on his back and he flung his wings out automatically, throwing it off of him, right into Kira’s sword. He spun around and threw his hand out at the next one, this time just tossing the fire at it the way he might toss a ball to Scott. It went up in flames immediately. 

He found that if he watched the fire, even if it was no longer touching him, if he thought about it, he could get it to flare higher. So he did that, torching the beast instantly. 

“Holy _shit_ , Stiles,” Boyd said from behind him, and Stiles spun around, looking for the next. 

“What? Was—are we done?” he asked, panting. He hadn’t even realized he’d been moving enough to work up a sweat, but he was ready for another Laeb, anything, fists clenching and unclenching, flames licking up his forearms. His wings were spread out wide, the top arcs brushing the three branches. 

“There were ten of them—and you took out _five_ ,” Boyd pointed out. 

“You’re not even scratched,” Scott crowed. “At least, not any more than you already had been,” he conceded. 

Stiles let his shoulders relax, pulling his wings in to rest on his shoulders. “Oh.” He looked around and saw all the smoldering dead cats around him and grinned. “I did that by myself?”

“We helped a little!” Kira chirped, wiping her sword on her pants. 

“For the most part, you handled it,” Derek said, sounding muffled; when Stiles looked at him, he was walking away. 

_Shit._ “Derek-” he started, distracted when he noticed Charlie standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching the show. “Why didn’t you help?” he asked, frowning at her.

She lifted her hands, let light glow in the palms. “I’m not equipped to fight, Stiles. I’m a teacher. I can double as a healer. Does anyone have any strained muscles they’d like kneaded?” she asked with what sounded like a teasing tone. 

Jackson, still in his wolf form, let out a low snarl, lowering his ears to his skull and baring all of his dangerous teeth at Charlie. Isaac, beside him, did the same, the fur along their backs rising until they were twice as large as normal. 

“Guys,” Lydia snapped. “Knock it off.” 

Charlie held her hands out peacefully. “It’s alright,” she said over growls that sounded like a lawn mower. “They’re still riled up from the fight. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just…fly back to the house…separately.” She jumped up high, managing to catch herself on a sturdy branch and pulling herself up. She climbed the tree and launched herself from the air.

She didn’t need a running start, Stiles noticed, and decided that he would have to learn how to do that. If he was watching right, he thought maybe it took more effort to launch straight up rather than getting a running start, but it would be worth it if he looked that graceful doing it.

“Come on,” Erica said, snapping her fingers at Isaac, who finally shook himself and trotted toward the house, his fur still puffed up. “Jackson,” she snarled, but he ignored her, his gaze still locked on the tree that Charlie had jumped from. 

He ran his tongue over his teeth, still growling like an engine, and finally Lydia, who Stiles hadn’t even _noticed_ during the fight, walked up to him and bent over so her face was right in front of his.

He snarled and tried to jerk around her, but she grabbed his muzzle, and everyone went tense, but his butt hit the ground when she lifted his face up. “Stop that. Come on.” 

Stiles gamely swallowed his laughter and practically skipped back to the house. Derek was waiting for them on the porch, legs braced and arms crossed. 

“We’ll have to burn all the Laeb bodies on the Fourth of July, since everyone’ll be having barbeques then and no one will notice all the smoke,” he said when everyone was in earshot. “Stiles, the Sheriff called and asked what the smoke was from a few minutes ago.”

Stiles patted his legs and found that he was still wearing his sweatpants that he’d slept in. His phone was on Derek’s nightstand. “What’d you tell him?” he asked cautiously, folding his wings all the way against his back.

“That we were handling a problem,” he said blandly. “Come on, everyone get inside. That’s probably enough excitement for the day.”

Charlie dropped down gracefully beside Stiles, running a few steps to keep her balance and letting her wings rest on top of her shoulders. “Alpha, I wanted to let you know that I’m going to meet up with a few other Maol to check a lead we have on the princess. I didn’t think it would be wise to just disappear for a few hours without letting you know why.”

Derek’s eyes were tight, but he just nodded. “Alright.” 

She turned to Stiles. “Practice your running take-off again in a few hours, once you’ve calmed down thoroughly. And remember to eat,” she added with a small smile before spreading her wings again. “I’ll be back in about five hours.” 

Derek opened the door for Jackson and Isaac, who’d opted to stay in their fur while they went inside; Erica followed them and turned on the TV, selecting a movie while Boyd got comfortable on the couch. Everyone was _already_ piling together. 

Stiles hesitated on the porch steps. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He didn’t turn to look at Stiles. “The smell of living flesh getting burned is a little much sometimes, that’s all.” He held his hand out and Stiles took it, following him into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun to write!! <3 More to come soon! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long for nothing!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a procrastinating procrastinator who procrastinates.

After the pack got settled to watch a movie, Stiles waited maybe ten seconds before demanding his reward. Derek pretended not to know what he was talking about. Stiles got offended, maybe a little hurt, until Derek sighed and said they’d have to get dressed before going out somewhere to _eat_ , which was fine with Stiles, a proper date usually included food, rumor had it. 

He got his clothes on and checked his phone, texting his dad that he was fine, just a little excitement that they took care of. He also let him know that he was going on a date with Derek, because why not distract him with something pleasant? 

It was an unfortunate mistake, because he texted Stiles back that they needed to talk, and Stiles didn’t know which text he wanted to talk about. 

He decided to stress about it later, tying his shoes and shoving his wallet in his back pocket. 

“Hey, I’m going to talk to Deaton about a couple things,” Scott said quietly. “I already asked Derek, he said as long as Erica’s here with the pack while we’re all gone.” 

“What are you going to talk to Deaton about?” Stiles asked suspiciously. 

Scott shrugged. “Charlie and the Maol in general. Usually I can get some answers out of him if I change the questions around.” 

“Ah…okay.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him, but couldn’t see any of Scott’s tells, so he accepted the answer for the moment. 

“Well, have fun on your date,” he said with a wide smile, which made Stiles more suspicious, but he didn’t say anything.

“I will. I’m going to see if Derek wants to make out in the backseat of his car.”

“I don’t.” Derek spoke from behind them, leaning around to rest his chin against Stiles’s shoulder momentarily. “I have a perfectly useful bedroom for that. Or your guest room. Or anywhere but the cramped backseat of my car.” 

“Yeah, but it’ll be _sexy_ in the backseat of your _Camaro._ ”

“It won’t be sexy when you get a cramp in your leg and knee me in the gut,” he pointed out, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Stiles demanded, reaching out and twining his fingers with Derek’s, pulling him toward the door. “Do you have a _plan?_ If you do, I’m a little apprehensive, since planning is usually my deal.”

“Stiles, oh my god. We’re going to get something to eat!”

“Good luck,” Erica called, chortling, and Boyd shushed her. 

When they were out at the car, Stiles buckled into the passenger seat and turned, bouncing, to Derek. “This is our first date. You have to impress me.”

“I’ve already had my mouth on almost every inch of you,” Derek pointed out blandly. “I think I can impress you in other ways besides my choice of venue.” 

“Almost only counts with grenades, we haven’t even gotten to the fun part yet.” He sighed and bounced his legs. “Are you seriously annoyed about this dating thing? Because I don’t want to date someone who doesn’t want to date _me_ , that’s just fucked up.”

Derek let out a huge breath, like he’d just realized that actually talking about his feelings was a thing that had to happen. “I do want to…date you.” He looked toward Stiles, then away again. “I just thought we were doing okay on our own without…dates and awkwardness and _these_ conversations.”

“Yeah, but without this, _I_ didn’t know that you were okay with what we had. You tried not to let the pack really know what was going on up until last night—which reminds me, why did you let me sleep in your room?”

“I never kicked you out,” Derek said immediately, taking his hand off the wheel to point rather dramatically at Stiles. “You always left.”

“Because you never said I could stay! You see how _you_ feel if you’re just sticking around because someone never told you to leave. It feels like you’re there because they’re too polite to tell you to get out!” Stiles leaned away and glowered out the window, telling himself not to get worked up. 

Derek’s jaw worked for a moment like he was chewing over his words. “If I want you gone, I’ll tell you to leave,” he mumbled finally. “I thought you didn’t want Scott or anyone to know.”

Stiles’s jaw dropped. “ _Why_ would I want that?” He had made some motion with his hands and saw the guardrail dent drastically. He stuck his hands under his thighs. “Look, we’re going on a date, we’re _dating_ , that’s _final_.”

Derek made a little choking laugh noise. “What if the date goes terribly?”

“I’ve been told that first dates are usually not that great; it just depends on the person your with. We gonna cry about the disastrous first date, or are we going to laugh our asses off about it?” he demanded, leaning toward Derek again. 

Derek’s shoulders relaxed. “I guess we’re going to laugh about it. Probably a lot, considering how much damage you can now inflict with just a flick of your wrist.”

“I could always inflict a ton of damage by flicking my wrist,” Stiles said automatically, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Derek just _barely_ stopped himself from slamming his own forehead into the steering wheel.

He counted that as a point.

 

They went to Irene’s off main, a diner where Stiles knew three waitresses, one of which said she was telling the Sheriff how much he was eating when he ordered two cheeseburgers, an order of fries and one of onion rings, and a large peanut butter and chocolate shake. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure you will,” he laughed, turning back to Derek after he’d ordered. “My dad better not be coming in here,” he said under his breath, squinting at the greasy tabletops around them.

Derek shook his head. “What did you text him?” he asked, leaning back against the booth.

Stiles started methodically twisting and ripping his napkin. “Just that we had a little excitement earlier, and that you and I were going on a date.” He smirked when Derek looked uncomfortable. “You just _said_ you weren’t hiding it from anyone.” 

“I wasn’t,” Derek grunted. “What’d he say?” he asked with a casual air that Stiles didn’t believe for a _second._

“That we had to talk,” he muttered. “He always makes me feel like a teenager again.”

“I think that’s a talent that parents have,” Derek said almost wistfully. 

“I have a problem,” Stiles announced quickly. “I know that our lives are basically a mash up of all the monster movies out there, but I want to watch a horror movie without gore. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only gore-free horror movies out there are probably old.”

“Okay…?”

“I thought you might have some suggestions, like some movies from your childhood.”

“ _Oh my god_ , I’m not that old, Stiles.” Derek glowered at him because he’d burst out laughing. 

“I know, I know, I’m joking. But seriously. We should find a bunch of movies without gore that we can watch.”

“You want to watch horror movies without gore? Why?” Derek shook his head. 

Stiles leaned his chin on his hand, rolling his eyes. “Because as gory as our lives are, I still don’t like the sight of blood, and I feel like watching the things they go through in a horror movie would remind me that things could always be worse.” 

“We could probably watch a few sometime.” 

Emmy the waitress brought their drinks while they were discussing movie options ( _What Lies Beneath, Hard Candy, The Sixth Sense_ ). 

She shuddered as she set Stiles’s shake in front of him. “ _Hard Candy_ was creepy,” she said, setting a stack of napkins between them. “Your food is nearly done,” she added, walking away to help another customer. 

“Has Boyd told you about his plans?” Stiles asked after finally managing to get his straw into his shake. 

“What plans?” 

“He wants to ask Erica to marry him in a few months. He’s got plans, the guy’s a menace with graphs and charts, did you know that?” 

Derek laughed. “No, I didn’t know that. What’s his plan?”

They talked about the pack for a while as they ate, wondering about the Lydia-Allison-Jackson thing, asking if that was a Thing, and what about Isaac and Allison? Was that _no longer_ a thing? It didn’t seem like a thing anymore, but neither of them had said anything about it.

“We’re gossiping about the pack,” Stiles laughed, shaking his head. “Like grandparents or something gossiping about the grandkids.”

“We’re discussing the dynamics in our pack,” Derek said with dignity while Stiles basked in the word _our_ like a flower soaking up sunlight. 

“Sure we are,” he said, grinning. “In other words: gossiping.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and took an onion ring off of Stiles’s plate, crunching it obnoxiously. 

 

“I think that went well,” Stiles announced after they’d left the diner—Derek paid, even after they argued about it. They’d agreed that Stiles would pay for date number two. “Now let’s go make out in your car.”

“Your breath smells like cheeseburger and onions,” Derek pointed out, but Stiles was undeterred. 

“You ate just as many onion rings as I did. Look, have a mint and we’ll take a walk, by the time we’re done with the walk the onion-smell should be gone.” Stiles pulled a couple of peppermints from his pocket.

“Did you take those from the hostess station?” 

“Yes.” Stiles dropped one in Derek’s palm and popped the other in his mouth. “Walk. Then car make out,” he insisted, grabbing Derek’s hand and tugging him on. 

They were only a block away from the diner when Stiles tilted his head, listening. 

“Do you hear that?” he asked, turning his head so he could hear better. Growls and wet crunching noises were coming from his left. “Ew,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his stomach.

“What?” Derek frowned at him. “I don’t hear anything weird.”

Stiles lifted a brow at him. “You can’t hear the cracking noises? It’s disgusting.” Irritated, he dragged Derek toward the noise, his fingers twitching at his side when they came to the tree line. 

“Okay, I can hear it now. And smell it. You should go back to the car and call Erica and the others for back up while I go-”

Stiles decided to see if he could outrun an alpha and took off into the woods. He heard Derek swearing behind him, racing to catch up.

They were pretty evenly matched, it turned out, but it didn’t matter; as soon as Derek caught up to Stiles, they both skidded to a stop, facing a Laeb with blood-stiff fur and something hanging out of its mouth while it chewed. 

It looked at them and flicked its tongue out, coiling around the arm that had been hanging out of its lips and dragging it in. As it chewed the arm, snapping and crunching noises from the bones made Stiles’s stomach heave. 

“Stiles-” Derek began, but he’d already flung out his hand, throwing the Laeb into a tree. 

It hacked and got to its feet, fur bristling and teeth bared. Stiles, a flush of irrational fury overcoming him, threw his wings out to block Derek from sight. The cat was bigger than the ones from earlier, and angrier. It lowered its head between its shoulders, snarling and licking its lips. Stiles snarled back.

Fire spread up Stiles’s arms and he threw himself at the Laeb, going down under its weight and pressing his hands into its chest, narrowly dodging its swiping claws; the pad of one of its paws smacked him across his face, but the poison-tipped claws missed. 

Slightly dazed, he curled his legs up and kicked ineffectively. Hands wrapped around the Laeb’s throat from above, yanking its head back, making its forelegs flail furiously. Derek roared as he yanked it back some more, giving Stiles enough space to get out from under it. Stiles chose to ignore this and got into a crouch, pressing his burning hands into the Laeb’s exposed belly.

It yowled loudly and raked its claws across Derek’s thigh, digging deep gouges through his jeans and flesh. He swore and fell back, gasping, “Stiles, _move_ ,” as he went. 

The Laeb fell down to all fours again while Stiles rolled to his feet and tried to expand the flames that had caught in its fur; this time it didn’t work like it had before.

Derek scrambled back and leaned himself up against a tree, yanking his belt off his pants and yanking it tight above the wounds. The Laeb turned to him and crouched, as if it didn’t notice that his fur was burning. Its muscles coiled to leap and Stiles threw himself on its back with a shout of rage, pressing flames into its skin and holding on as it bucked and snarled.

He almost lost his grip and wrapped his legs around its middle, closing his eyes and pulling his wings in tight when the Laeb’s claws nearly caught on the edges. His hand slipped and he grabbed the closest thing he could reach, its ragged ear. 

The sound it made was horrible and high pitched, head shaking as he burned it. The shaking made his hand slip down over its eye, burning the side of its face. He yelped when it backed them into a tree, slamming him into it three times before he lost his grip and hit the ground in a heap. 

The Laeb shook its head, pawing at its face where its eye was burned shut. Stiles, still dazed from hitting the tree so hard, struggled to his feet, looking back and forth wildly until he spotted Derek nearly twenty feet away where they’d left him.

Before Stiles could decide whether to try his telekinesis again or not, the Laeb let out a low whine and bound away, disappearing through the trees. 

Stiles pulled his phone out and called Lydia. “Laeb poison is curable in werewolves, right?”

She made an ominous noise. “Their bodies are resistant to it; the wounds will heal on their own. Where are you? We’re coming to get you.”

“Who?” he asked, shuffling his way toward Derek. 

“Jackson and I,” she said primly. “Erica and Boyd found a couple more in the woods behind the house, they’re taking care of it.”

“Where’s Kira?”

“She went to get Scott. He’s with Deaton,” she added before he could ask. “The _car_. You’re driving,” she said, muffled. “We’re on our way. Tell me where you are.”

“Um, you know Irene’s? Off main? Jackson should be able to follow our scents from there.”

“Did you hear him?” Lydia asked, then turned her attention back to the phone. “Just like the old days, huh?” she asked softly. 

“You mean where the breaks are few and far between and almost no one sleeps unless they were knocked unconscious or passed out?”

“Yes,” she hummed. 

“I guess so.” He knelt beside Derek, who was pale and clammy and staring up at him with slightly glazed eyes. It was far too familiar. “I’m not cutting your leg off,” he told him, and mumbled a goodbye to Lydia. 

“I didn’t ask you to.” He quirked a small smile. “I heard Lydia. It’s just gonna heal on its own.”

“Yeah…oh ew.” Stiles looked at the gouge marks and saw a sort of acid green pus oozing out of the wounds. “That’s really disgusting.”

Derek stared at him blandly. “Thanks. My body is _healing._ ” 

Stiles grimaced deeply and reached out to prod the pus, jerking back when Derek slapped at his hand. “Ow! What was that for?” 

“Stiles, the poison is _fatal_ to you now, remember?” Derek rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth as more poison was pushed from the wounds. 

“I’m still _part_ human,” Stiles muttered. He hadn’t _felt_ very human when he’d seen the Laeb, like it had infuriated him just on sight. 

He took his phone back out and sent a text to Scott, asking him to ask Deaton for remedies for werewolves that had been scratched by Laeb.

‘ _He said to have Derek shift to his fur, it’ll heal really fast once he’s in his fur,_ Scott texted. 

“Deaton says you should shift, that it’ll push the poison out faster.” Stiles prodded Derek’s arm. “Take your shirt off,” he instructed. 

“Uh-huh,” Derek huffed, squirming out of his shirt easily enough. He sighed when he looked at his jeans. “They’ll come off when I’m shifted,” he muttered, and let his eyes shut.

Stiles backed up so he had more space and tripped over something, catching himself on a tree trunk. By the time he’d looked back, Derek was tangled in his jeans and looking bright eyed and quite proud of himself. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re brilliant.” Stiles reached out to help him with the jeans, picking up his shirt. “You’re so fluffy, I think it’s from your terrific hair,” he observed, draping the shirt over his arm. 

“Found them!” Jackson called as he bound into the woods toward them, skidding to a stop in front of Derek. “Are you okay?” he demanded, bending double to look Derek in the eye.

He huffed in his face and nudged his nose up under Jackson’s jaw comfortingly before stepping around him to lead the way out.

Jackson turned his head toward Stiles and asked through his teeth, “Are you okay?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah, no blood, probably a few bruises.” He followed Derek out of the woods with Jackson at his back, listening for the Laeb. Stiles flexed his wings, stretching them out and wincing when he felt the twinge of bruises along his back. The feathers were all twisted up and ruffled from the fight, too. He briefly wondered if the Maol had tools for grooming their feathers, but looked up when he saw Lydia’s tapping foot. 

Jackson’s car was edged right up to the tree line, the driver’s door open and waiting.

“In,” she said flatly, and Derek glanced over his shoulder toward Jackson, who shrugged, his face impassive and hard. 

Derek jumped into the backseat, his bushy tail disappearing into the dark; before Stiles could resign himself to sitting in the back and holding his knees up under his chin, Jackson had climbed in behind Derek, pulling the driver’s seat back. 

“You’re up front with me,” Lydia said. She lifted her brows at him like she hadn’t expected Jackson’s choice, but wasn’t going to mention it. 

Stiles climbed into the passenger seat and dragged it back so his legs had space. He looked over his shoulder and saw Jackson curled tightly around Derek, nose buried in the fur at his shoulder. Stoic and aggressive cuddling.

“What happened?” Lydia asked, nudging the volume of the radio up a bit. 

Stiles explained quickly, and when he was done, Lydia asked, “So…did you use your new powers on it?”

He sighed. “Yeah, I did. And…” He glanced into the backseat, but Jackson wasn’t listening, and Derek looked too comfortable to pay attention. “When I saw it, I just got _furious_. Rage-monster furious. I guess I thought it was going to attack Derek and I got pissed.” 

“Charlie said Maol instinctively protect people. It got worse when Derek got hurt, didn’t it?” Lydia waved at someone she passed and put her blinker on. “You were protecting Derek.”

“Yeah, alright.” Stiles tapped his fingers on his thighs, rubbed his wings against the leather on the seat; it felt strange. “It was huge,” he said offhandedly, leaning his head back.

“What was?” 

“The Laeb. It was bigger than the others, and I don’t know why. It also took off instead of fighting to the death, like the others.” He picked at a hole in his jeans.

“I bet it was a Laeb version of an alpha. They’re not sophisticated enough to have been assigned names for positions, but if it was bigger and more than willing to walk off to protect itself, I’ll bet it’s the alpha.” 

“Wouldn’t an alpha stay and fight?” Stiles demanded.

Lydia shrugged. “I’d think _clear thinking_ alphas would want to make sure they survived to make it back to their pack, so if it meant retreating to attack later, in better circumstances, then so be it.” Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror when Derek let out a canine harrumphing noise. 

Stiles chose not to get involved. If he didn’t say anything, no one could accuse him of taking sides. 

Allison, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac were waiting for them when they got back. Boyd shoved a plate of leftover pasta in Stiles’s hands while Erica and Isaac shuffled a now-human Derek to the living room to be cuddled mercilessly. 

“Seriously, he’s okay, guys,” Stiles said. 

Boyd shushed him, curling his arm tighter around Erica’s middle and leaning his head against Stiles’s ribs, closing his eyes. 

“Move _over_ , Jackson,” Isaac muttered, squashing his face against Derek’s shoulder. 

Lydia huffed and curled up against Jackson’s back, stretching out to reach for Allison’s hand where she was curled by Isaac’s leg. 

“Your puppies don’t seem to realize that you’re _completely healed_ ,” Stiles muttered.

Derek chuckled and pressed his face into Stiles’s neck. “We almost got eaten by a giant cat. They’re allowed to be clingy.”

“Damn straight,” Erica snapped, squeezing her hand around Stiles’s ankle. “When are Kira and Scott gonna be back?”

“Soon.” 

Stiles yawned and let his aching body relax into the warmth of the pack piled on him. He could do with a nap. He smiled as he drifting, because as bad as that fight with the Laeb had been…his date with Derek had gone pretty well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I was distracted with visiting friends, and drama at work, and then Tennessee (which is WHERE I LIVE) had a freak ice storm (TENNESSEE. WHERE I LIVE.) (IT IS VERY SOUTH.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying this thing where for every fic I read and leave kudos for, I leave a comment. I like to think it makes the authors happy, no matter how old the story is, or if my comment is just THIS IS GREAT. Idk. 
> 
> Also sorry I'm so slow. I keep getting distracted with life and also I had a new idea for another type of creature!Stiles. It's just...my favorite thing. ;-; Someone stop me.
> 
> I will fix mistakes in the morning. I'm exhausted.

Scott and Kira didn’t come back for the rest of the night, but Charlie did. Erica had let her in suspiciously, but Charlie, weaving from exhaustion, had simply smiled resignedly at her. Boyd offered her food, but she’d _respectfully declined_ and had slipped off to the guest room that Derek had let her stay in.

Stiles fell fast asleep on his stomach in Derek’s bed—on the edge, since Isaac had squeezed in on the other side and squashed Derek into the middle. It was a close call, but Jackson had decided to go home with Lydia, and Allison had gone back to her apartment for the night. Boyd and Erica were asleep on the ground around the bed. 

Scott woke him up early in the morning, shaking his shoulder gently. “Come on,” he murmured. “I have to tell you something.” His face was set in weary lines; there were no shadows or bags to be seen—werewolf healing?—but Stiles could tell from the press of his lips and furrow of his brow.

“Coming,” Stiles muttered. He yawned widely and peeled Derek’s arm away from his stomach, scooting down off the bed. He scrubbed his hands over his face, shrugging Scott’s hand off with a grumpy noise of protest. 

“Stiles,” Scott whispered harshly, wrapping his hand around Stiles’s upper arm and yanking him to his feet.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he groaned, letting Scott lead him out of the room. He groaned loudly when he kept going right out to the Jeep and helped himself to the driver’s seat. “What is it?” he muttered, rubbing his face. “I’m tired, man.”

“Yeah, me too,” Scott huffed. “Sorry I had to wake you up like that. I just thought you’d need to hear this as soon as possible.”

The last sticky tendrils of sleep cleared from Stiles’s brain. “What is it? What happened? Is my dad—what about Kira--?”

“They’re fine,” Scott said quickly. “Everyone’s okay. Deaton said that it’s entirely possible that your…your mom found a way to erase the Sheriff’s memories of her wings.”

Stiles gaped at him. “ _What?_ ”

“He said that some faeries can do that sort of thing, and they’d be willing to do it for a Rahnezaor Maol, especially.” Scott rubbed his hands on his thighs. “I’m sorry, but I’d bet that’s what she did.” 

“I don’t get _why_ she would do that, though,” Stiles said. “Why not just tell him she didn’t want to me to…be like her?” His voice cracked, so he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Did she just think that I would never find out, so she didn’t need Dad to know?” 

“I don’t know,” Scott said softly, reaching out to put his hand on Stiles’s shoulder, a warm, comforting weight. “But I think you should go talk to your dad, tell him about your wings and maybe show him, see if that jogs his memory.” 

“It’s been over twenty _years_ , Scott. You think a pair of giant chicken wings is going to remind him?” 

“It could,” Scott said earnestly. “It wouldn’t hurt to try. I’ll drive you home right now.”

“We should tell Derek we’re going,” Stiles said. He wasn’t up to arguing. “I’ll be right back.” He got out of the car and stretched, shuffling back to the house. “I have to get my shoes and stuff, too,” he said over his shoulder. 

Scott shot him a thumbs up, shifting to get comfortable. 

 

Erica was in the living room when he went back inside. She crossed her arms. “Where are you going?”

“To my dad’s,” he said, hunching over to hook his shoes on without untying the laces. “I have to talk to him.”

“Derek’s still asleep.”

“Can you tell him where I went, then?” he asked, swiping his phone off the end table he’d left it on the night before. 

“You could just wait until he gets up.” She stood up and stepped around the couch, putting it between them. “Why do you always have to take off without telling us?”

“I _don’t_ ,” he said sharply. “I’m seriously just going to talk to my dad. What’s the matter with you?” 

She lifted a brow. “Nothing’s the matter with me. You sound defensive, though. Something bothering you?”

He lifted his hands, palms out. “I don’t know what I did to piss you off, but we can figure it out later. I’m going now.”

“What if he freaks out?” she blurted before he could make it to the door.

“What?” He turned around slowly, frowning at her.

“What if the sheriff freaks, maybe doesn’t believe you’re his kid? What if he shoots you?”

“He won’t.” He rolled his eyes. “He’ll know it’s me.”

“How do you _know?_ ” she pressed. “He could think it’s a trick and shoot you. Or…or he’ll believe that it’s you, but not _really_.” 

He furrowed his brows, trying to understand her complicated expression; it was a confusing blend of attempted stoicism and concern. “He won’t.”

“What if he does?” she demanded, stalking toward him.

“Then I guess I’ll be pissed off and come back here.” He flung his hands in the air. “And then you’ll get to say I told you so, so what’s your problem?”

She huffed loudly. “Nothing! I don’t have a problem.” She turned her back on him and went back to the room where Boyd and the others were, growling softly under her breath.

Confused, Stiles went outside and got in the car, shaking his head when Scott asked what was wrong.

 

He texted his dad before he got there, let him know he was coming and wanted to talk; he got **k good** in response, which was not encouraging. 

“You want me to come in with you?” Scott asked, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

“As much as I’d _like_ for you to be there, I think it’s going to be bad enough. Thanks, though.”

“Alright. I’ll wait out here, though. Yell if you need me.”

“You _and_ Erica think my dad’s going to shoot me.”

Scott made guilty-face before shrugging. “I just think that with everything that’s happened, he may suspect…something. Just make sure he doesn’t hit you with iron.”

“ _Iron?_ Iron is bad for me now?”

“Well, we’re not sure if it affects Maol like the other faeries, but just in case.”

Stiles shook his head and got out of the car, brushing his hands over his shirt before he went to the front door. 

It swung open before he could reach for it. 

“He-ey, Dad,” he said cheerfully. Nerves made his throat feel tight, fingers twitching against his thighs.

Nate lifted a brow at him, unimpressed. “How bad is it and should I get my gun?”

Stiles flinched involuntarily at the mention of his gun. “No! No guns.” He glanced anxiously over his shoulder at Scott, who was still relaxed in the driver’s seat; he flashed Stiles an easy grin when their eyes met.

“Okay. Come on, let’s sit down and you tell me why you’re so nervous.” His eyes narrowed. “Did something happen yesterday on your…date? I thought this was something to do with those cat things. Are you alright, son?” he asked seriously, reaching out to put his hand on Stiles’s back.

Stiles jumped away, hands shooting up in front of him—the hall closet door slammed shut, a lamp hurdled into the wall. He winced. “I’m fine, nothing bad happened. I’ll clean that up,” he added. “We should go sit in the kitchen.” 

“Did Deaton let you play with magic?” Nate asked suspiciously, walking to the kitchen. 

“Nope, I did this on my own. Haven’t gotten much help,” he muttered. 

“So your date with…Derek…went okay?” 

Stiles sat in a chair, running his hands through his hair. “Yeah, it went great, actually. We were fine.” He squinted up at his father. “Is that what you want to talk about first?”

“I wouldn’t mind saving that for last, actually,” Nate admitted with a pained expression. 

“Yeah, me either. What did _you_ want to talk about?”

“I wanted to see you, make sure you were okay, first. Then I wanted to ask you if you knew anything about the foot we’d found in the woods the other day. It’d been chewed on, so I wanted to ask what was going on.”

Stiles grimaced. “Have a seat,” he said. He explained everything about the Laeb that they’d learned, told him what they looked like. “We’ve been killing them, but they just keep coming.” 

“Do you know why they’re here?” 

“Yeah, actually.” Stiles rubbed his palms against his jeans. “It’s hard to explain, I guess. I have to tell you something important.”

Nate leaned toward him, his face serious and concerned. “You can tell me anything, kid.” 

Stiles nodded, his gaze dropping. He pushed out of his chair and stood up. “Please don’t freak out.” He didn’t wait for an answer; he shook his shoulders and eased his wings out from under his shirt, spreading them as far as he could in the kitchen without hitting anything. When the edge of his left wing brushed the fridge, he stopped and looked at his father.

Nate’s mouth had dropped open and stayed there as he watched the wings unfold. His gaze roved over the feathers, his son’s shoulders and chest, finally lifting to his face and meeting his eyes. “What…” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “What’s this?” he finally asked, lifting his hands helplessly. 

Stiles put his hands in his pockets, lest he mimic his father’s movements. “I…well. I met this girl in the woods, and she gave me a bottle full of…magic? I guess?”

“Jesus, son, you didn’t _drink it,_ did you?”

He scowled. “Why does everyone react that way? Dad, she _knew_ me, she knew _Mom._ ”

Nate froze, his face going pasty. “What?”

“She knew Mom’s name, her maiden and married name.” Stiles pulled the wings in, let them rest against his shoulders. “She was my cousin, Dad.”

Nate shook his head. “No. Your mom and I were both only children. Whoever…whoever did this to you was _lying_ , Stiles.” 

“No, she _wasn’t._ Do you forget that I’m almost _always_ surrounded by werewolves? They can tell when someone’s lying ninety-eight percent of the time, Dad.” He shook his head. “Never mind about…about Mom and Kestrel.”

“Who the hell is Kestrel?” 

“The _girl_ \--never mind.” He took a breath and braced his palms against the table. “The point is, I’m officially part Maol, part human.” 

“And what, exactly, is a Mail?”

“Ma _ol._ It’s a type of faery.” He winced when Nate just stared at him. “Just…stay calm and let me explain. They’re a type of faery, and now _I’m_ part faery.” He sat down, pulling his wings in tighter to squeeze between the chair and the table where he’d fit just fine before.

Nate’s eyes were glued to the feathers peeking over Stiles’s shoulders for the first half of the explanation. When he got to the part about him throwing fire around Derek’s backyard, his eyes snapped toward his face, narrowing. His mouth even started to form a scold, warning him about how _rude_ that was, when he hesitated.

“Did you say you could…”

Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes on his father’s face. 

“Can you…?”

He lifted his hand and let flames dance over his fingers.

Nate had the complete expected reaction of leaping to his feet, one hand stretched out toward his son as if he could protect him from the flames. “That doesn’t hurt, does it?” 

“No.” He flexed his wrist and let the fire travel up his arm. “Mom was like this, too,” he said quietly. 

“Stiles, I would remember my _wife_ having wings!” Nate snapped, crossing his arms tightly, shoulders pushed back.

“It’s okay, Dad. A faery probably erased or blocked your memory. Scott asked Deaton, that’s totally possible,” he said soothingly, but Nate was already shaking his head. 

“That isn’t –Stiles. A faery _didn’t_ come anywhere near me—you have to-”

“How do you think this _happened_ to me?!” he finally snapped. “She—Kestrel, my _cousin_ found me because she knew Mom!” He took a deep, even breath.

“You’ve been, I don’t know, tricked, Stiles. Remember the last time we dealt with…fae creatures? Argent said they trick people.” 

He looked at his father, looked at the tension around his mouth and eyes, the defensive posture. No matter what he said or did, the only way to get him to believe Stiles about his mother was to get rid of the block on his memory. 

Nate seemed to sense Stiles letting the conversation rest, because he slowly started to relax. “So…what else can you do?” he asked cautiously. He lifted a hand. “I don’t really want to hear any more about how or why.”

Stiles nodded, holding his hands out. “I can make light,” he said quickly, eager to move on to something happier. “And I’m telekinetic. Oh, and I can fly now.”

“Good god.” Nate covered his eyes for a moment. “You in the air. Bird. Hospital.” He shook his head, grinding his palm into his eyes. 

“Here, let me show you the light I can make.” Stiles let the warm light spread over his palm and reached for his father, tipping his head back to grin up at him, going cold when their eyes met. “Or—or not. Never mind.” He drew his hand back, even as Nate was reaching to catch his wrist. “It’s alright.”

“Stiles, I didn’t-”

“Dad, I swear, it’s fine. You don’t know how it feels, I get it.” His chest felt tight, his eyes stinging. 

He’d reached for his father’s hand and saw fear and suspicion in his eyes and it was worse than remembering being on the wrong end of his father’s service weapon. At least then he’d been possessed, he’d known his father wasn’t aiming at _him,_ but at the thing possessing him. 

“Stiles, just show me what you were going to show me.” His voice was tired and sad, like he’d realized what he’d done but didn’t know how to fix it. 

“I should actually—probably get back to, um, Derek and the others. And, well, Scott’s in the car anyway.” He was up and halfway to the door already, babbling. 

“Stiles…what, um, what about Derek? And your date?” he asked tentatively, trying to stop him from leaving.

He hesitated in the living room, staring blindly at the lamp he’d broken. “We’re…dating now.” He flicked his gaze to Nate. “Are you mad?” _About that?_ He didn’t think he could handle anything else yet.

“No, no, I’m not mad,” Nate said hastily. “Derek’s not...Derek’s okay.” 

Stiles’s shoulders relaxed and he rolled his eyes. “Who would you prefer, Dad?”

“Well, I mean, that Mahealani kid’s nice,” he said with a little quirk of the mouth.

“They both technically have a record,” Stiles pointed out, and Nate rolled his eyes.

“Bring him to dinner in a couple days, son.” Nate hesitated, indecision flickering over his face before he caught Stiles up in a tight hug, jolting a bit when his fingers brushed the edge of Stiles’s wing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I don’t know how this happened, or believe that faeries messed around in my head, but I love you.” He leaned back. “I want you to come back and bring Derek and we’ll talk about this more.”

Stiles nodded, slipping out of his grip and practically running out the door. 

Scott was waiting outside of the jeep to pull him in tight, unquestioning and warm. 

They were quiet the whole drive back, and in the house, Erica was the first one to wrap herself around him. Not even Derek could pry her away, so he settled for pulling them down onto the couch. 

No one asked him to tell them what happened; everyone, including Jackson and Lydia, simply pressed close and kept him warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: exploding stuff.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long!

Charlie started training him again all week. It wasn’t hard. Most of what she was teaching him came to him easily. He had a few more flying lessons, and she taught him how to land without skinning up his knees. A few times, Stiles noticed her reaching out as if to touch his arm or shoulder, but stopped herself. He didn’t say anything about it, wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

Derek was on the porch watching, as he refused to leave Stiles alone with her, despite the fact that he was stronger and faster than ever now. He was grateful for the company anyway, since the rest of the pack had gone out to make sure none of the Laeb skulking the woods had wandered into town.

“I think we should take a break,” Charlie said lightly, but her face was tense. She watched him for a moment, then walked toward the porch and stopped at the base of the steps.

Stiles shrugged and flopped on the steps, legs outstretched, He swiped a hand over his forehead, looking up at her expectantly.

She didn’t speak, instead carefully perching on the bottom step, away from his sneakers. 

Derek stood at the far end of the porch, giving them the illusion of privacy, but it was useless. Derek could hear them from anywhere in the house; Stiles wasn’t sure he cared whether he heard, anyway. 

“You know, I was…very close to your mother,” Charlie said suddenly.

Stiles frowned at her. “You were?”

“We were best friends. As close as you and Scott, at least. I was…devastated to find out she’d died of…such a human ailment.” She looked out at the yard. “She thought you’d be safe here, you know. Because without your magic, neither of you could be found by the Laeb. But because there’s such a high concentration of magic here, of course the Laeb found you.” She sighed heavily. “I think there’s enough that even without Dia’s running away, they’d have found you. Kestrel was right to bring you your magic. You were going to get killed, running with werewolves.”

“I was doing _fine_ ,” Stiles snapped immediately. “ _We_ were doing fine.”

Charlie lifted her hand. “Yes, alright. I apologize. Claudia was like that, too,” she added quietly. “Please excuse me,” she said, standing abruptly. “I need…a moment.” She fled into the trees.

Stiles scowled, digging his fingers into his arms when the familiar ache came over him. He did his best to will it away most of the time, but when Derek’s hand dropped onto his shoulder, fingers curling gently, he broke. It doubled him over his knees, gasping and blubbering.

Derek didn’t say anything, simply sat behind him so that Stiles was between his legs, knees pressing gently to his ribs. He rubbed soothing circles on his back, right on his wing joint. 

Stiles shook and sobbed and got snot all over his hands and jeans, and came out at the other end exhausted. He sagged against Derek’s leg, his arm locked around his knee.

“Sorry,” he rasped.

Derek’s hands went tight on his shoulders. “Don’t apologize. I was wondering when you were going to let go.”

“What, you _expected_ this?” Stiles demanded, trying to work up the energy to be irritated about that.

“Yes. We’ve been talking about your mother since this happened. I expected this a lot sooner.” He brushed his hand across Stiles’s shoulders. “You feel a little better, right?”

A denial sprang to his lips immediately, but before he blurted it out, Derek pressed a kiss to the top of his head, light as a feather. “Yes,” he admitted. “I feel better.”

“Good. That’s…good.” Derek bent and curled himself around Stiles’s back, just breathing into his neck.

“Thank you.” Stiles wiggled free and shuffled around so he was facing Derek, running his hands up and down his thighs until he met his gaze. “Seriously. Thanks.”

“Don’t,” he muttered. “I wasn’t just going to leave you there.”

Stiles lifted his brows. “So you don’t want all _this?_ ” He sniffed loudly, because he was still sexily congested. 

“Not at this particular moment,” Derek admitted, and grinned, bright and fun, before he leaned forward to kiss the tip of Stiles’s reddened nose. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

“I feel like I’m always eating,” Stiles complained, but he let Derek pull him to his feet, tugging him into the house. 

Charlie returned when the whole pack was in the house. Like usual, she waited to be let in, and when she was, she stood very still at the door, her back ramrod straight, like she was bracing for something.

“Derek, may I speak to you for a moment?” she requested, her gaze flicking to him.

Derek’s brows lifted, but he nodded, gesturing at Erica to come with him; she seemed pleased enough with the attention. 

Isaac stood very close to Stiles while they waited for the three to get outside before rushing to the window.

“He said get back,” Boyd said with barely disguised disappointment. “He doesn’t want us listening.”

Isaac let out a soft whine, so Stiles nudged him and nodded toward the kitchen. “Can I get some help?” he asked quietly, and Isaac nodded.

Lydia crossed her arms and stood close to the door while the rest of the pack spread themselves out in the living room, all of them as tense as bowstrings. 

When Derek, Erica, and Charlie came back in, everyone pretty much jumped to their feet. 

“Charlie would like for us to help her look for the princess they’re searching for. She’s got some of the princess’s stuff for us to use to find her scent.” His gaze scanned over the faces of his pack. “Any thoughts?”

Scott piped up first. “I think we should help her look,” he said immediately, with a quick smile toward Charlie. 

She touched his arm and smiled back at him. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. 

“I think we should, too,” Lydia said immediately. “The faster that princess is found, the faster they’ll leave and take _most_ ,” she managed to make that sound as disapproving as possible, “of the Laeb with them.”

Derek nodded and looked at the rest.

Kira agreed, and so did Allison.

“I think we should let them deal with it,” Erica said, crossing her arms.

“I agree with Lydia,” Boyd said, and Erica scowled at him.

Jackson let out a put upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “I’ll do it if Lydia thinks it’s a good idea.”

Isaac’s eyes were sort of squinting. “What do you think?” he asked Derek. He looked nervous, like he’d noticed something the rest of them hadn’t.

Derek’s jaw went tense. “They want to find their princess and leave, and Charlie thinks Stiles should go with them.” 

Stiles let out a snort. “Is that why Erica doesn’t want to help?” He looked toward Charlie. “I’m not going, but we can help find your princess.”

Erica looked gleeful and devious, eyes brightening and posture straightening immediately. 

“We should discuss that more in depth privately, Stiles,” Charlie said evenly. “You really are better off with us.”

“I’m better off where I want to be, which is here. With my pack. So you can either take our help and my choice, or you can leave and keep searching with no leads.”

Charlie’s face twitched, but she didn’t get angry—she had said she was a teacher after all, and surely Stiles wasn’t the first person to mouth off to her—she simply nodded. “Alright. I appreciate your willingness to help us, then.”

“We’re not starting right now. We’ll wait until the sun starts to set, that way there’s less people to wonder what we’re doing.” Derek ran a hand down his face. “We’re not sure where to start, so we’re just going to split up into groups. Since you two don’t have a sense of smell, Allison and Stiles, I was thinking you could watch the woods for Laeb while we’re distracted.”

It was a more inclusive way of saying he wanted them to stay home, and Stiles knew it. Judging by the way Allison’s eyes narrowed, she knew it, too. 

“Maybe I should call my dad,” she said sweetly. “Get him to help us keep watch, too.”

“Good idea,” Derek said, meeting her gaze evenly. 

Stiles lifted his brows. “What about Lydia?”

“She’ll be with Jackson, and if she’s in trouble, she can scream loud enough to stun anything that comes for her,” Derek said. 

“But she doesn’t have a sense of smell, and if she can be paired up with someone who can follow the princess’s scent, then so can we,” Stiles pointed out, brows lifting.

Derek’s lips pressed together.

“And I’m trained to fight, Lydia’s not.” Allison looked cross, her hands fisted at her sides. “If any one of the humans of the group should go, it should be me.” 

Derek’s eyes narrowed and he straightened himself. “I want you and Stiles here, watching the woods.” His eyes flickered, briefly, toward Charlie, and his brows lifted just the slightest bit. 

“Fine,” Allison snapped, her arms crossing. But my dad is going with you, too.” She took out her phone and stalked into the kitchen. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes back at Derek, who just shook his head slightly. 

“When you’re ready, I’ll give you an article of Dia’s clothing to help you find her by scent. If…if that’s how it works.” 

“That’d help,” Scott said cheerfully. “We’re splitting into groups, so…” He looked around the room, then looked at Derek. “How’re we gonna do this? Lydia and Jackson, Kira and me…?”

“Actually, I want Kira with Boyd, and Erica with you, and Isaac with me. For now, everyone should eat and relax until the sun sets.” He ran a hand down his face and went to his room without a backward glance.

Stiles’s brows furrowed and Erica gave him a hard shove between the shoulders. He scowled at her and followed Derek to his room.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly, shutting the door behind him. 

“No,” Derek said, brows lifting. He held his hand out, gestured Stiles forward. “I don’t…feel right about this. I want you and Allison here to keep an eye on things. Part of it is to keep you out of any direct line of fire, but the rest of it is that something feels off.”

Stiles nodded slowly. He bit the inside of his lip thoughtfully, then pushed on Derek’s chest until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He crawled into his lap. “Alright. I’m still a little annoyed.”

Amused, Derek’s hands came up to catch at his hips, balance him before he tumbled back off the bed. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’ll have to let me have my way with you until I forgive you.” He leaned forward until their mouths were nearly touching, sharing breaths, smiling at each other.

Derek nipped his bottom lip sharply. “No.” He laughed when Stiles squawked and fell backwards so that Stiles had him laid out on the bed, kneeling on his lap. He put his hands behind his head, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles muttered, leaning forward and biting at his chin gently, then moving up so he could kiss him more thoroughly. 

They managed for a few minutes before Derek’s hands pressed up under Stiles’s shirt, pressed into his wings and then underneath them. 

Stiles jolted a bit, tensing, and then tried to ignore it, but—Derek dug his fingers in a little and Stiles jumped again.

“Sorry—did that hurt?” Derek gasped against his neck, nosing and mouthing at the skin there.

“Uh, no.” Stiles laughed nervously, trying not to arch his back.

“Feel good?”

“Tickles,” he admitted through his teeth, closing his lips around the top of Derek’s ear threateningly. “Stop that!” he squealed when Derek pressed his fingers in again.

“I thought you were joking,” Derek laughed, lifting his hands in surrender. 

“You are surprisingly bad at letting sexy times be sexy,” Stiles pointed out, letting his bottom lip poke out. 

“You want sexy?” Derek demanded, and Stiles made the mistake of nodding. Derek lifted him by the hips and threw him down on the bed, his head hitting the pillows harder than he was expecting.

While he oriented himself, Derek climbed onto him and grabbed his wrists, holding them in one hand above their heads. His free hand came up and rested lightly, on his neck. He lifted a brow and Stiles nodded enthusiastically, arching up to try to kiss him.

Derek pressed his face back down, his hand clenching around the side of his jaw carefully, kissing the breath out of him. Stiles decided he didn’t need to breathe with Derek’s knees pressing against the outsides of his hips, bracketing him in, his fingers pressing along his face and jaw. Derek’s teeth scraped against his lips, his chin, until Stiles started squirming.

Derek laughed quietly and bit his neck before moving back up to his mouth, flicking his tongue across Stiles’s bottom lip until he parted for him. 

“I get to pin you down next,” Stiles gasped, rolling his hips up, seeking friction. 

Derek pressed down firmly, holding him in place. “Good idea,” he growled, and rolled his own hips when Stiles tried again, making his eyes flutter shut. 

 

Things were getting really interesting when Derek paused, head lifting. He groaned. “Alright, I’m coming,” he muttered.

“Who’re you talking to?” Stiles demanded, catching his chin and dragging their mouths together again. 

Derek moaned and pulled away. “Erica told me it’s getting dark.” He sat up and grinned down at Stiles. 

“Oh, shut up. You should see _your_ hair.” Stiles wiggled his hips until his pants were back up, zipping them and scowling at Derek. “Are you sure we can’t postpone the search until tomorrow?” 

“The sooner she’s found, the sooner they’re gone,” Derek said, running his hand through his hair and pulling his own jeans up. “Plus, do you _really_ want to have sex while the rest of the pack is in the house?” he asked in what Stiles thought was a reasonably low tone, but Derek snickered when there were loud shouts of disgust from the living room, followed by the slamming of a door. 

“Not if that’s going to be the reaction, assholes! You shouldn’t be listening anyway!” Stiles shouted, crossing his arms. 

“They can’t help it, they’re two rooms away,” Derek pointed out.

Stiles rolled his eyes and reached around for his shirt. “So, while you guys go do the big bad werewolf thing, Allison and I’ll be here, waiting for news?”

Derek shrugged. “Something like that. And keeping an eye out for…anything weird. Charlie’s probably going to come looking with us, but I just…I have a bad feeling.”

“We’ll be here,” Stiles muttered, then he grinned. “I can practice while you’re all gone, then.” He let light gather in his palms and got up on his knees, pressed them against Derek’s stomach. “Don’t get too impatient with Isaac.” 

Derek’s brows went up. “You’re the one that gets impatient with Isaac.” 

“Am not! Not recently, anyway,” he conceded. 

“Just keep an eye out for Laeb tonight. If you guys need help, call us.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles scoffed. “You’ve seen me, I can handle myself. And if I get into a tight spot, I can _literally_ fly away from my problems.” He flexed his arms mockingly. “I can probably even carry Allison, too. I’m pretty strong now.”

Derek reached out and ran his finger down the length of Stiles’s nose, surprising him. “I know.” He reached around and grabbed the back of his neck, dragging him forward and kissing him thoroughly before getting off the bed. “If we don’t find any leads at all around midnight, we’ll be back. If we do find a trail, we’ll try to follow it and finish this up.” 

“Good luck, then, I guess.” He got off the bed and stuck his hands in his pockets, scowling at the floor. “I’m not even technically human anymore,” he said, deciding to voice his thoughts, “and I still get left behind. I’m starting to take it personally.” 

Derek frowned at him. “You’re not getting left behind. You’re keeping an eye on the woods and making sure nothing happens _here_ while we’re all scattered. Don’t worry,” he added with an extremely dramatic eye roll, “the next time there’s something dangerous to do where we could all almost die, I’ll make sure to bring you with.” He clenched his jaw and added, “Besides, you’ve been with us almost every time there was a Laeb problem. That counts.” 

“Not on _purpose._ Except the first time.” Stiles sighed. “Forget it. We’ll talk when you get back. Have fun being a bloodhound.” 

“Haha.” He left the room with great dignity for someone who was about to go ask a faery for a princess’s t-shirt to track her down. 

Stiles sat at the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. He let flames flicker over his fingertips until he heard the growl of Jackson’s car pulling out. 

Allison was standing in the living room when he came out of Derek’s room. She still looked angry. 

“Charlie went with them. She said she’d be back later, though, since she’s no good at tracking.” She glared at the door. “We could always go scout the woods.”

“We could, if you want.” Stiles shrugged. He felt restless already. “There’s not much else to do. Derek said he wanted us to watch out for the house.”

Allison snorted. “I don’t see why he didn’t leave Lydia with us if it was _so_ important that people stay here to watch out for the house.” She paced a loop around the couch. “It’s not like what they’re doing is even dangerous. In fact, if we’re supposed to be watching out for Laeb, we’ve got the more dangerous job. It’s so stupid! And we’re all spread out again. Didn’t he learn anything about splitting the pack up, stretching us so thin?”

Stiles leaned his hip against the recliner, watching her pace and mutter. “So…you wanna go light things on fire?”

Her head snapped up like an angry…werewolf. “Yeah. Let’s go do warm ups or something. I want to try kicking your butt now that you’ve got powers.” 

He laughed. “Let’s go, then, Argent.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank everyone for giving this fic a chance! I'm trying to finish it up now! Sorry it took so long, I got a sinus infection because I am the Nerd Goddess and I have allergies, anyway, hopefully explosions in the next chapter. :D


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